The Other Side of the Story
by S. Faith
Summary: Mark had his ups and downs with Bridget, and for both, he had someone to talk to. Especially the downs. Movie universe. Very important distinction!
1. Part 1 of 3

**The Other Side of the Story**

By S. Faith, © 2009

Words: 23,105 (Part 1: 7,737)  
Rating: M / R  
Summary: Mark had his ups and downs with Bridget, and for both, he had someone to talk to. Especially the downs.  
Disclaimer: Isn't mine. And I made a lot of stuff up, too.  
Notes: I know there are a lot of people who didn't care for this character, but I thought she could have been so much more than just a punch line. After all, she attended Bridget's parents' wedding do-over.

* * *

And it had seemed like any other day, from the start of it.

First day back after the Christmas/New Year holiday, and she had been dreading the return to work as much as any warm-blooded working woman was, with the additional dread of a new assignment, as the man to whom she'd been executive assistant was clear across the ocean and starting life anew in America. When Jeremy, one of the remaining partners, had come in that morning, he'd been curiously and smirkingly silent on the subject of whom she'd be working for now. "Time will tell," he'd said, then headed into his office and closed the door.

She glanced over to what was her former boss' office. The door was closed, the blinds on the windows were drawn, though his nameplate was still on the wall beside the door: MARK DARCY. His was a pair to the empty office around the corner that had belonged to the woman who'd accompanied him. She sighed, wondering how long before another couple of law partners would be brought on board, if Mark's replacement would be as nice to work for, if she'd be working for Jeremy for the interim.

She got up to fill her coffee cup before sorting through the filing. Out of the corner of her eye there was movement accompanied by cheerful humming, but she was too focused on filling her cup and not spilling it on herself to turn right away to see who had entered; a new client, an interviewee for Mark's vacant office, a courier. She begged a moment and said she'd be right with them.

When she could finally turn her eyes away from pouring steaming hot coffee, she nearly dropped mug and carafe both; there, hovering over her desk, setting down a pastry for her, was Mark, attaché in hand. Mark, who was supposed to be thousands of miles and several time zones away. Mark, who was smiling and humming, bringing her a flaky, sugar-dusted, chocolate-drizzled pastry, something he'd never, ever done before.

"Good morning, Rebecca," he said, looking to her at last, smile still in place. "Lovely day. Crisp and sunny. I brought this for you. I'm told no woman in her right mind can refuse chocolate croissants."

"Mark?" she asked, then said in the most understated way possible, "I was… not expecting you."

"No? Jeremy didn't…." He drifted off, an alien but rather pleasant dream-like quality about his features. "No, clearly, he didn't tell you. I decided not to take the New York position."

Jeremy's comment suddenly made sense. Considering how much it had taken to arrange such a coup for two of England's best and brightest legal minds, Mark seemed terribly nonchalant in this explanation. He went back to humming softly under his breath as he headed for his office door. She knew something momentous had to have occurred for him to have stayed. Rebecca was dying to know but did not have the nerve to ask what on earth had happened to bring him back for good.

Rebecca could see as he opened the door and flicked on the lights that all of the boxes packed up in the week prior to Christmas were still sitting there; it was only the sight of them that seemed to deflate his mood a little, but only temporarily. "Well. I know what I'll be doing today," he said, his smile returning.

"Just let me know if you need a hand."

"Oh," he said, turning back to her. "Yes, that would be great, if you're not doing anything else."

She had the filing to do, but her curiosity level at present was too high to focus on that tedious work. "I'd be happy to. I'll just… get my pastry first." As she said it, she remembered that Mark was very fastidious about his office. Food and drink were absolutely verboten.

"Yes," he said disconnectedly, "bring it in. Those are best when they're still warm, I hear."

Generally speaking, Rebecca was not a fan of science fiction; one phrase, however, leapt to mind. Pod people.

She took a seat near his empty desk after setting her coffee and chocolate croissant down as Mark tore into a box and began unloading books back onto a shelf. He began to hum that same tune again, and it was at that moment she realised it was the theme song for the television show _Friends_, which, were it twenty-four hours earlier, she would have gambled her life sure in the knowledge he had never seen a single episode.

Definitely pod people.

"So," said Rebecca. "Did you have a nice holiday?"

He set the book onto the shelf, and didn't say anything right away, only smiled to himself again. "Very," he said at last. "Ah. That reminds me." He popped open the attaché and pulled out a small photo in a classic, tasteful silver frame, standing it on his desk so that it would be perfectly visible when he was sitting. She could see it from where she was, too, though not directly, and she craned her head a little to try to figure out who it was. From what she could tell, it was a woman; blonde, sitting on a sofa, hand in her chin.

He saw her looking, which prompted her to ask as she reached out for the frame, "May I?"

Mark seemed surprised that she wanted to have a closer look. "Yes, go right ahead."

Rebecca took the frame to examine the photo in detail. She knew a lot about Mark's life, knew the people closest to him, and though vaguely familiar, she could say with certainty that she had no idea how Mark knew this very pretty woman who was looking into the camera lens with a challenging gaze and a slight pouty smile, hair just brushing the tops of her shoulder. Rebecca looked back to Mark, who seemed to be distracted by the photo again. "So who is this?"

He seemed reluctant to say, only returned to unpacking his books, but all the while the remnant of that smile played on his lips. "She really did not want me to take that picture," he said at last, clearly reminiscing fondly. "I wanted one for my desk, though, and she wouldn't give me one—said she was too fat in all of them, which is ludicrous—so I surprised her with my camera. Dared me to take it, and you can tell, can't you?" He pointed to the frame again. "That turned out to be the best of the lot, though, certainly the one with the most personality shining through, so when I went back to the house, I printed it off."

Rebecca noticed he had not actually answered the question. She tried a slightly different tack. "What is her name, Mark?" she asked slowly.

"Oh," he said. She caught a flush racing on his cheek. "That's Bridget. Bridget Jones."

The name rang a distant bell, and then Rebecca flashed back to November, to when Mark had successfully defended Kafir Aghani, to the interview he'd given, and she realised why she'd recognised the woman in the picture; she had been the one holding the microphone that day. "Oh," she said.

Unprompted, Mark added, his tone a little sheepish as he said it, "She's my girlfriend."

"Oh." The single syllable fell from her lips once more only because she could think of nothing else to say. As far as Rebecca knew—and this was only little more than a fortnight prior—Natasha was his girlfriend, and the rumour was she was to be a fiancée before last year's end. It was only the second of January. Whatever had happened with this Bridget had happened very quickly. Rebecca also had the sense that whatever had happened was the cause of Mark's pod-person-like state, as well as the reason he was still in London. He was very definitely smitten.

"She's lovely," Rebecca said, setting the photo down at last.

"She's more than that," he said quietly, almost more to himself than to her.

"Tell me about her," urged Rebecca; she got the feeling he wanted to say more, but was holding back, perhaps embarrassed to share his personal life with his assistant.

"Only if you don't mind, Rebecca," he said.

"Of course I don't, or I wouldn't have said anything," she said. "And please, feel free to call me Becky."

He looked to her, smiling broadly again. "She's one of those people," he began, "that only becomes more beautiful when you get to know them better. When I first met her I thought she was average looking, but I suppose that wasn't helped by the outfit she was wearing." She knew Mark was not a slave to fashion, and could only imagine what on earth Bridget could have been wearing—A clown suit? Fairy wings?—to garner such a comment from him. "Then I caught a glimpse, that lucky glimpse into the heart of who she is, and… well, I'm afraid I've been rather sunk ever since."

"Was this over the holiday?" she asked tentatively, afraid he'd said all he wanted to say, afraid that more probing questions would cause him to shut down and revert to the pleasant but taciturn man she had gotten used to working with almost every day.

Unexpectedly he chuckled. "Last summer was when that occurred," he explained, rightly surprising Rebecca. "I was too blind to see it then, too proud to admit it." He stopped unpacking then, at the point he'd emptied the box, and leaned on the edge of the desk, that strange, faraway expression on his face once again, his eyes sparkling as he continued to speak. "She is as outgoing and as talkative as I am not. Well. As I am _usually_ not." Rebecca smiled before she could stop herself. "She's funny, witty, and sharp as a tack; warm and caring, and argumentative when she's adamant about something…. She's loyal, veritably incapable (as best I can tell) of a dishonest word or deed; she's not afraid to laugh at herself, to be spontaneous, and has a sense of wonder that I have only ever seen in small children before, to her credit. Overall, I find that the better I get to know her, the more I realise she's constantly surprising me, which I never would have guessed I'd like (or more importantly _need_), but…" His eyes travelled to the photo again as he trailed off; he did not need to finish his sentence for her to know what he was thinking.

She had never before seen him like this; how animated he'd become in describing this new woman in his life, how differently he spoke when it was matters of the heart, but with no less enthusiasm. This was the fire of an entirely divergent species, separate from when he was fervidly arguing in court; this was the passion that comes with finding something one doesn't know one's looking for until it's suddenly there and attainable… and willing to take a chance, too.

Rebecca began to piece together what must have happened: some sort of revelation of a personal nature over the Christmas holiday; an epiphany would be the only thing to explain such a radical shift in his priorities, his demeanour, his willingness to overlook issues of pride and—she laughed inwardly, considering her boss' name—prejudice to accept a woman so unlike him so totally into his heart.

"She sounds marvellous," said Rebecca. "I can't wait to meet her."

He grinned once more—it was truly a pleasure to see—as he broke into another box. The pastry had been all but forgotten in the mountain of disclosure he had just heaped upon her, so she nibbled into it, taking sips of cooling coffee between bites.

"You'll get your chance," he said, unearthing his framed Cambridge degree, and hanging on the hook it had been taken down from only a week and a half prior. "At the very least, I have every intention of bringing her with me to the Law Council Dinner at the end of February."

"Great," she said; glancing to the photo again, she had to admit a small measure of disappointment that she'd have to wait so long to meet such a spectacular-sounding woman, but she was careful not to let it show. "I'm very much looking forward to that."

She finished the chocolate croissant, which was tasty but not the sort of thing she could eat every day, and drank at the coffee before rising from her seat.

Mark did not wait to direct her. "If you wouldn't mind unpacking that box," said Mark, "I would greatly appreciate it." She knew what was in there, as she had packed the box to begin with; tall and light, it contained his court wig, its tiny twin, and their respective stands.

"Certainly." She pulled at the edge of the packing tape and ripped it to the side, parted the flaps, pulled out the foam packing, then gingerly lifted the stand up out of the box. She set it into its place behind his desk, then did the same for the miniature reproduction that always sat at its side.

"Mark!" It was Jeremy, peeking his head in. "Good morning!" He looked at Rebecca. "I told you time would tell," he said, winking to her. He came into the room, saw the meagre amount of unpacking that had occurred so far. "Sorry I can't help with this—I have twice the work I usually handle." Jeremy was grinning. "But not for long."

"It's all right. We have it under control." Mark tore into another box. "I'm motivated to be mostly finished by lunchtime."

"Ahh," said Jeremy; simultaneously he seemed to spot the photo. "Ah, mate, you have this pointing the wrong way if this is supposed to be your motivation." He turned it around to face where Mark was standing. Rebecca swore she saw him blush again, even as her own eyes were drawn to the blonde again. "Always thought she was a looker, but never would have put her with you. So I trust you had a pleasant New Year?"

"Very pleasant indeed," said Mark.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she abruptly asked, "Jeremy, do you know Bridget?"

"Mmm, yes," he said. "Friend of my wife's. Known her for years. Always turned up at our dinner parties alone, always rejected every friend we thought suitable for her. I trust this won't be an issue in future, though."

Mark chuckled at that. "We're not exactly long-term at this point," said Mark, "but if I have anything to say about it, no, it won't be."

"So," Jeremy asked in a confidential tone. "How long did it take you after you came back to go grovelling at her door?"

Surprisingly, Mark chuckled again. Rebecca wondered from where he'd returned, aside from another planet. "Approximately the time it took to stop by my house to drop my luggage off, shower and shave."

Jeremy laughed. "…And?"

Mark turned from lifting another box to the desk for Rebecca. "With her picture on my desk, the rest should be obvious."

"No details?"

"A gentleman does not kiss and tell," said Mark, a smirk on his face, "and should either assist in unpacking, or get to work."

It was Jeremy's turn to chuckle. "Whoever told you I was a gentleman is sadly misinformed," he said. "I do have to get to court, though. Cheers."

She took the contents out of the most recently opened box, his desk set, and began removing the contents. She grabbed his eighteen-month day planner and, as he preferred, opened it to the current week to lay it on his desk, but not before glimpsing to the previous. She saw that the twenty-seventh had been the day he'd been scheduled to leave for New York. Leave… but was here before New Year's. She furrowed her brows. He'd returned from somewhere; surely he had not gone all the way just to turn around!

Curiosity got the better of her. "From where were you returning?" she asked.

"Pardon?" he asked.

"You said you stopped home long enough to drop your luggage."

He laughed lightly. "Sadly, I did not really make the decision to stay until I was already on the ground in New York." He stopped what he was doing, pulling a small piece of statuary out of bubble wrap, to look at her. "All that silence and solitude, the hum of jet engines, makes for a great atmosphere of contemplation."

"And when did you inform Natasha of your… decision?"

"We didn't really have a discussion. One of the junior partners came for us at the airport, and that's when it hit me, really hit me, that I couldn't stay."

"How did Natasha take it?" Rebecca asked before she could think better of it. Leaving New York meant leaving her, too.

"She didn't say anything, just called my name as I grabbed my bags and dashed back into the airport," he said. "I suspect she'll never speak to me again, which… I wouldn't really blame her. I should have just accepted things sooner."

She could hardly believe his candidness. "So you've been back… how long?"

That wasn't really what she wanted to know, but could think of no delicate way of asking; Mark seemed to understand what she wanted to know. He stopped what he was doing, and she watched him tap his fingers one at time as if counting. "Now on day four."

Rebecca smiled. It was really charming to see him like this, open and warm, relaxed and gushing about his new sweetheart. She must have been very special, indeed. "Well, I for one am glad you decided to return, and not just for my own selfish reasons."

He chuckled. "I'm sure you would have gotten used to working under Jeremy very quickly. You adapt well to change, which I have always appreciated about you."

"Thank you," she said.

"You know," he said, ripping the tape off of another box, "since we've let our hair down, as it were, I just realised I haven't asked a thing about you. Are you seeing someone? Married? Children?"

"I'm not," she replied. "My ex left me last summer."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mark said. "I have every confidence that you'll make a smarter man very happy some day."

She laughed hollowly, her eyes turning to Bridget's photo; it was too soon for the deeper disclosure required to correct Mark's misapprehension regarding her ex. "Something like that."

At that moment she heard his mobile start to ring. He pulled out the phone, glanced at the incoming caller display and smiled tenderly. "Excuse me," he said. She took the hint, picked up her coffee, and left his office.

"Hello," he said warmly as she pulled the door mostly shut behind her; she was surprised, as she had never heard him answer his phone with anything but his name before. "Yes, a good morning so far," he continued. "And yours?" Pause. "I'm glad to hear," he continued, then was quiet before speaking again. "I miss you too. Looking forward to lunch." Another pause. "Unpacking my office. No, no, I have help, and you are, quite frankly, too much of a distraction, because—" His voice dropped down, though still easily carried out to where Rebecca was standing. "—all I'll think about is how much I want you in my arms, how much I want to kiss you, how much I want to drop the blinds and close and bar the door." He stopped at last; Rebecca felt herself blush, and wished she had closed the door all the way. "I'll meet you there then, at one. Okay. Bye."

She heard the beep as he pressed the End button, and waited for him to call her name before she re-entered the office. "The rest of these should all be books and case files," he said. "If you don't mind returning the files to their drawers, I'll handle the books, and we should be done in no time flat."

She could not help but add, "In time for lunch."

"Yes," he said with a smile.

………

Rebecca returned from an afternoon errand to find that Mark was still gone. She had to admit that she was not entirely surprised, given what she'd seen and heard earlier, given that he had no current caseload or appointments. In fact, given all of that, she was surprised that the man had bothered to come in at all.

Jeremy returned, and he waved to her as he passed by, reading what must have been a particularly good article in the paper. As he passed by Mark's empty office, he stopped, took a step back, and peered in. He turned to face Rebecca. "I didn't actually hallucinate seeing Darcy here earlier, did I?"

"No," she said, amused. "He hasn't returned from lunch yet."

Jeremy's brows shot up about as far as they could go. "Perhaps we should have required a DNA test to let him back to work," quipped Jeremy. "The Mark I've known for a decade or so barely went out of the office for lunch, let alone returned late."

She grinned. "It is rather nice to see."

"Agreed," said Jeremy. "It's about time the man got his oats on… no offence intended," he added quickly, apparently remembering he was talking to a woman.

"None taken," she said, even as she felt her cheeks tinge with heat, and lowered her gaze to non-existent work on her desk.

"Came to see her when he got back," he said thoughtfully. "So, how long does that make it?"

Rebecca did not like to encourage him, but she also knew Jeremy would not let it go until she told him. "He said this was day four."

He snorted a laugh. "I daresay he did not apply his usual, er, rules in this case."

"Rules?"

"Three dates. Ha," he said, more to himself than anything, "I bet he shot straightaway from the airport to her flat to shag her!"

Thank God the telephone rang just then, which Rebecca cleared her throat and picked up to answer. "Mark Darcy's office, this is Rebecca."

"Becky, it's Mark."

Her eyes of their own accord shot up to look at Jeremy, which unfortunately he noticed, and mouthed with a slightly lecherous grin, "Mark?"

"Hi, Mark," said Rebecca. "Having trouble?"

"No, no trouble at all," he said. She was ashamed to say she was listening attentively for indications of a second person with Mark. "I just wanted to let you both know that something's come up, and I won't be able to make it back in."

"Well, you've had no calls," she said. "I'll be sure to let Jeremy know."

"Great," he said. It struck her once more how happy, how relaxed he sounded. It was truly miraculous. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye."

She replaced the phone on the receiver. As she did, as expected, Jeremy asked, "Well?"

"He's not returning today."

"Did he say why?"

"He only said that something's come up."

She wished she'd thought about her choice of words before she'd spoken, because if she had she would not have said anything at all; at her statement, Jeremy began to howl like a pre-pubescent boy. "Oh," he said when he caught his breath at last. "Yes, I'm sure something did come up."

………

Mark did show the following morning; he was a little late, but was still smiling and was generally speaking in an amiable mood despite looking a bit tired. Nevertheless, he and Jeremy had a lengthy meeting over redistributing the case load. As one day slid into the next, slowly but surely things returned to the way they were prior to the Christmas holiday, prior to Mark's planned leave. While there was difficult work to be done as always, often time well into the evening hours, there was a definite sense of normalcy present, though the mood of the office was brighter and happier than it had been. Little wonder.

It was about a week after Mark's return that Giles came in after his extended holiday. "Rebecca," he said cordially in greeting, then, as he headed towards his office, stopped dead in his tracks and did an almost comical double-take when he saw Mark's office.

"He didn't go," she said, anticipating the inevitable question.

"Didn't go? What do you mean, didn't go?"

"I mean he chose to remain here in London."

Still glassy-eyed and surprised, he asked, "Did something happen?"

Rebecca chuckled, thinking how much Giles' reaction mirrored her own initial one. "Yes," she said, smiling a little as he turned to look at her. "He found himself a lovely new girlfriend."

Giles blinked as if he could not comprehend what he had just heard as being English. "He stayed for that?"

She thought it was probably too much to go into at the moment, and not really her business to say so anyhow, so she just smiled and said, "Pretty much."

Giles whistled, then his chubby face split in a grin. "Must be one hell of a woman."

Rebecca thought of the photo sitting on Mark's desk, of the wonderful things Mark had told her (and continued to tell her) about Bridget, and smiled wistfully. _Must be_, she thought.

………

Things has been so busy during the latter part of January that Rebecca soon found herself with a backlog of work of her own, and she decided to return after dinner one night to finish entering final notes in the computerised file system. She had told Mark, who had said it was not necessary but appreciated. She came in to find her desk lamp on, and could see Mark's door ajar, the light shining out from within. She did not have a direct line of sight into his office from her own desk, but figured he was probably in there.

She figured the sooner she started, the sooner she could finish, so rather than pop her head in and disturb Mark, she got right to work in entering the notes. The quiet tapping of her keys was the only sound she heard for many moments until she heard Mark's voice.

"Bridget. Hi."

His phone must have rung.

He continued, "I'm very near to finished. I'll be there very soon."

Rebecca smiled. The old Mark would not have cared it was nearing nine in the evening.

"I hope so." A woman's voice, presumably Bridget's; he must have hit speakerphone so that he could continue working. "Dinner's waiting, and so am I."

She could hear him chuckle. "I miss you too," he said.

_Very sweet_, she thought.

"You really ought to get here while—" Bridget began, then said, "Oh. Am I on speaker?"

"Mm-hm," he said, "but I'm here alone, so it's all right."

"In that case," she continued, her voice distinctly sultry, "you really ought to get here while we're both still hot."

Rebecca heard him drop his pen, and she immediately wished she could vanish into thin air. "Bridget, it's bad enough I've got to finish this," he said, "and that I've been thinking of you all day, looking forward to—" He broke off.

"To what?" she asked, teasing in her tone.

"I think you know 'to what'," he replied. His voice was low and throaty when he continued. "If it were possible to get away with nourishing myself on you alone, I would."

Shocked to hear such a thing come out of Mark's mouth, Rebecca clapped a hand over her own to silence her gasp.

"Mmmm," Bridget said, clearly pleased. Rebecca began shutting down all of her programs, wanting to get out of there before she embarrassed herself or her boss. "I like the way that sounds. What else would you do if you could get away with it?"

He cleared his throat, then said, "You aren't helping, darling."

"Mark, what else would you do? Tell me," Bridget insisted in a very alluring voice. Rebecca imagined the woman in the photo, her boss' girlfriend, a woman she'd heard a lot about but had never met; she pictured Bridget, her eyes wide, her lips pouting with a challenging smile, begging this question of Mark… and felt herself thinking unwelcome thoughts. Rebecca knew she needed to get out of the office even faster than originally planned, because she was sure he'd be running out from behind his desk at any moment.

"I'd never sleep again," he said at last, his voice huskier than Rebecca had ever heard it; "I'd just spend my time running my fingers over your skin, over your gorgeous curvy body; I'd never stop kissing you; I'd loathe to stop making love to you."

Bridget made a sound very much like a purr, then said, "Oh, I do like the sound of that. So what on earth is it you're doing that's so important?"

As Bridget was speaking, Rebecca switched off her monitor, slipped out of her chair, dressed in her coat and grabbed her handbag. She stole out of the office, quietly closing the door behind her. Clutching her purse to her chest, she stood against the wall in the hallway to regain her composure; her cheeks were flushed and her breath was unsteady.

"Becky?" It was Mark; she didn't know how much time had passed since she'd left, but she reasoned it could not have been more than a minute or two. She was glad she had gotten out when she had.

"Oh, hi," she said, flustered. "I was, uh, just looking for my keys."

She thought for a moment he must have known she was lying until he said, "I think I saw them on your desk. Good thing you caught me on your way back in."

"Good thing," she said.

"Must be cold outside."

"What?" she asked at this apparent non sequitur.

"Your cheeks are a bit ruddy," he said with a smile. "May want to invest in a nice warm woollen muffler."

She made herself smile brightly. "Yes, of course. Great idea. Thanks."

He smiled; she had always liked Mark as a boss, but ever since meeting Bridget, he had been less like a boss, more like a friend, and she quite preferred it. "Well," he said. "Try not to stay too late working. It's not good for you."

"I won't."

She went back into the office and closed the door, looking to the ceiling, wondering how long she could safely stay in there before taking her keys from her desktop and leaving again.

………

The invitations arrived that day for the yearly Law Council Dinner, and as Rebecca handed Mark's to him, he looked a bit conflicted. This surprised Rebecca, as she knew he had been looking forward to bringing Bridget to the dinner. Her expression must have asked a thousand questions, and he smiled slightly, studying the florid calligraphy on the invite.

"I still want her to accompany me," he said, "but I'm afraid… I'm afraid that she'll hate it."

"Why do you think she'll hate it?"

"I have no illusions about these get-togethers," he said. "And for all the wonderful things about Bridget, she is nothing like the rest of us in very pointed ways."

"Meaning…?" she prompted.

"She holds some opinions that would make Horatio's hair curl," he admitted. Rebecca understood: they were rather more than a little left of centre. "And while I think she has come to accept that I am more conservative than she is, I'm afraid that she will not appreciate being the lamb surrounded by wolves."

Rebecca couldn't help but chuckle. "Mark," she said, "from everything you've told me, I think she will more than hold her own amongst the lot of us—and besides, we are hardly a pack of wolves."

He folded the invitation closed and slipped it back into its envelope, looking at Rebecca again. At least he did not look as torn now. "I suppose you're right," he said, smiling fondly in such a way that she knew he was thinking of Bridget again. "And I appreciate your confidence in her."

………

A few more late nights and Mark had accomplished what he had set out to do, securing asylum in the UK for a Congolese nurse. Spirits were even higher in the office than previous, which said quite a lot.

It was midmorning the day after this win when the delivery man arrived bearing something shaped suspiciously like a wine bottle and an enormous bouquet of wildflowers in a variety of gorgeous, vibrant colours, all contained in a cobalt blue glass vase.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"I'm told this is where I can find Mark Darcy's office…?"

"Yes," she said, reaching for her phone. "Let me get him."

Mark was quick to answer and she only asked him to come to her desk. She turned to see him exit his office, then stop dead in his tracks with a perplexed look on his face upon seeing what the delivery man held in his arms.

"What's this?" he asked as he got nearer.

"For you, sir," said the newcomer, "if you are Mr Mark Darcy."

He blinked rapidly. "Yes," he said.

The delivery man handed the flowers and the bottle to Mark while Rebecca signed for them.

"Sir, miss," he said before leaving, "have a nice day."

"Thank you," said Mark absently. He set down the vase and the bottle on Rebecca's desk so he could pull the card off of the bouquet. He slipped a fingernail under the edge of the envelope so he could pull it out to read. As he did, a smile bloomed slowly on his face.

"Who's it from?" asked Rebecca, though she already had her suspicions.

Mark handed her the card.

_Mark,_  
_Congratulations on a major victory for freedom and justice. Am so bustingly proud of you. Hurrah!_  
_Happy one month, too!_  
_XOXOXO,_  
_Your B_  
_P.S. Celebrate with your colleagues—you deserve it!_

Bridget's handwriting was definitely feminine and reinforced her free-spirited nature, lilting and looping in bright blue ink on the white card. Next to her initial was a kiss-print in pale, shimmering pink. Rebecca smiled and looked back to Mark, handing him the card. "This is so sweet of her."

"Yes," he said, grinning in a way that, were it on anyone else's face, she might have described as smug. He busied himself with the second package, the obvious bottle of some kind, and opened it to find a bottle of sparkling wine.

"I guess that's what she meant by 'celebrate'," said Mark.

"Would you like me to dig up a few glasses?"

He thought about it, then nodded. "Sure," he said, which surprised her; she thought for certain he would have wanted to take the bottle home and share it with Bridget instead. But then he added, which explained everything, "I can always stop for another bottle for later."

Rebecca grinned, then headed for the break room where an array of different types of glasses and dishware resided, to make sure suitable glasses were ready to drink from. Mark took the sparkling wine to chill in the mini fridge in his office. When everyone who had been out to court or elsewhere returned to the office later in the afternoon, the cork was popped and glasses were poured for all.

"To the triumph of justice," said Horatio, lifting his glass.

"Hear, hear," said Jeremy.

"Yes," said Giles. "Congratulations to Mark for a stunning turnaround on that Congolese woman's case."

Jeremy said, "I never would have even guessed he was working on something so difficult. Has been so pleasant to be around. I wonder to what we can attribute this amazing personality change?" Jeremy winked. "Or rather, to whom?"

Mark, for his part, looked humble, slightly sheepish, yet amused. "I can't imagine."

"When do we mere mortals get to meet this lovely ray of sunshine?" asked Giles.

Mark smiled. Rebecca knew, through repeated conversation on the subject, that he liked to keep work and personal time as separate as he could. She also sensed that despite assurances to Mark of the contrary, Bridget meeting the stodgy, conservative lawyers that he worked with (and, it might be argued, that he was once himself) might be a bit like trying to make oil and water mix.

"I have every intention on asking her to the Law Council Dinner next month," he said at last.

"Very much looking forward to it," he said, his cheeks pink with delight at the good fortune of scoring champagne at work.

"I think we all are," said Rebecca, smiling fondly to Mark.

………

In early February, Mark had suggested the mid-month meeting be held at his house rather than in the conference room in the office. Rebecca thought it probably had little to do with a dislike of the conference room itself, confirmed by a casual mention by Mark of the short walking distance between his place and Bridget's, and further supported by Mark taking to working from his home office whenever he could, or leaving early in order to finishing working from home.

A few days before that meeting was scheduled, Mark came in looking traumatised. "What is it?" asked Rebecca, somewhat alarmed.

"I haven't thought about it in years," he said. "I'm not sure what to do."

"Mark, I have no idea what you're talking about. What's the matter?"

He looked at her as if she'd materialised out of thin air. "Wednesday."

She had to think about it for a moment, then it dawned on her, and she smiled. Wednesday was Valentine's Day, and it was Monday. "Ah," she said.

He nodded. "I'm at a loss."

She stifled a laugh. "Do you need help thinking of something?"

"That would be marvellous," he said. "I really don't want to screw this up."

"Have you had any ideas so far?" she asked.

"Well," he began tentatively. "I thought of dinner, roses and chocolates, but thought it might be a little too… ordinary. Banal." He looked embarrassed. "She has such a lively spirit that I'm afraid of being seen as an unimaginative, boring old man."

At this Rebecca chuckled. "I think that's a lovely idea," she said, "and I suspect that anything you give to her or do for her, she will see as meaningful."

"What have the men in your life done for you in the past that you've found particularly touching or memorable?"

She smiled warmly. "There was the time that Jenny surprised me with tickets to _Mamma Mia!_…" she said, drifting off with the pleasant memory.

Mark did not reply, only looked slightly confused. It was only then it occurred to her that she had let slip her most recent ex's name, the gender of whom was fairly unambiguous. In some ways Mark was as old-fashioned as he was open-minded, which is probably why he looked more and more ashamed as the seconds ticked away.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That was foolish of me to assume."

"Please, don't apologise," she said with a smile. "I don't exactly set off anyone's radar in that respect."

He smiled at last.

"And," she added, "it doesn't exactly disqualify me from helping you."

"Quite true," he said.

After a little more discussion, Rebecca convinced Mark that his idea was still quite delightful—there was, after all, something to be said for tradition—but that it could perhaps be accentuated with a lovely gift, which then became the topic of further debate.

"I did have something else in mind," he admitted almost reluctantly. "A ring."

Rebecca was sure she had not heard him correctly. A ring? As in, engagement? She blurted in her shock, "After only six weeks?"

Mark looked almost hurt at her reaction. "I love her."

Rebecca did not doubt his word in the least, and she found it touching. "I think it's a very sweet sentiment," she said in a placating tone, "but it might be a bit soon to be so serious."

"I knew my first wife for years before we got engaged," he said. "Let me assure you it's not the age of the relationship that qualifies it, but the quality of it."

"Mark," said Rebecca, then faltered. She had no idea what to say, because she had no idea if Bridget felt the same way, or very differently; she couldn't have known.

She needn't have said anything more though, because Mark sighed. "I suppose you have a point," he said, then with a sheepish grin, added, "I could well imagine her reacting in a manner that would be… disheartening." After a moment, he added, "At the very least she might react much the same way you just did."

Hoping to help after shooting down his idea like so much game fowl, she suggested, "Earrings might be nice."

He shook his head. "She doesn't wear them," he replied.

"Bracelet?"

"She doesn't wear much in the way of jewellery," he said, then added, "Well, I would hope a ring would be the exception."

"Hm." Her thoughts drifted unbidden to lingerie, and she said, "What about something pretty from La Senza or Rigby and Peller—?" She stopped when it became clear he had no idea what she was talking about. "Something pretty. You know. For _after_ dinner."

He finally understood and said, "Oh. I'm, er, not sure I'm comfortable shopping for something like that for her."

Rebecca smiled. "Women really love that sort of thing," she said. "Trust me."

He seemed to allow his smile reluctantly.

"And I imagine you have spent enough time with her to estimate her size," Rebecca added.

"I suppose," he said at last, "that they'll be staffed anticipating clueless males shopping for their wives or girlfriends."

Rebecca laughed lightly. "That's a safe bet."

For lunch that day, Mark advised he would be out longer than usual, and when he returned, he bore a rather large plain white carrier bag and two smaller ones. Rebecca fought her smile as she continued her work.

That Thursday morning, it was all Rebecca could do not to come out and ask outright how things had gone for him on Valentine's, but she thought that the persistent smile on his face said more than enough.

It didn't surprise her when he came up to her later that day to offer his thanks, even though his sudden appearance at her desk did take her aback. "Becky," he said; when she looked up, he continued to speak. "I just wanted to let you know how much your help the other day was appreciated by me, and especially by Bridget."

"It was no trouble at all," she said with a smile. "So long as you had a lovely Valentine's together."

"She told me it was the nicest she'd ever had, and I'm inclined to agree." He chuckled. "She even bought me a present, which was a first for me." He reached into his pocket, pulled something out to show her; her brain didn't make sense of it at first. Thankfully he explained. "A key fob. Newcastle United. With, er, matching boxer shorts."

She smiled. "That's very sweet," she said.

"I especially appreciate your advice regarding…" He trailed off, then spoke in a lower tone. "Well. Let's just say she would have been mortified at the inequality of the cost of our respective gifts were one of them a ring."

"Still thinking of that?" she asked.

He smiled, and it was a bit more mysterious a smile than she was used to seeing. "More than thinking."

………

It was common enough to see a dignitaries or officials departing Mark's office, but it was not common to see said persons exiting with barely suppressed looks of amusement on their faces. Mark looked a little flushed as he escorted the group with whom he had been meeting out of the office amidst puzzling stray comments regarding Mark's good fortune. He then returned to his office immediately without saying a word.

Rebecca's curiosity got the best of her and she went to Mark's office door. He usually did not close it, but this time he had. She rapped quietly. "Yes?" she heard him say.

"May I come in?" she asked.

"Certainly."

She pushed the door open to see him sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. He looked up.

"Everything all right?"

Mark sighed heavily. "Aside from my complete mortification, everything is just fine. And the thing is, I can't even be angry with her." He laughed under his breath. "I should have known better both than to answer the phone via the speaker button, and keeping it on once I realised it was not related to the business at hand."

"Bridget?"

"Unfortunately, yes," he said. "Please do not ask for the details. I am sure they will be common knowledge soon enough."

"I'm sorry," she offered sincerely. "I doubt she would ever intentionally try to embarrass you."

"I know," said Mark. He sighed once more, then sat back in his chair. "Of course, I suppose I knew what I was getting into when I first met her, regarding her ability to say the wrong thing at the wrong time." He grinned at last. "I suppose there could be worse things to complain about than a girlfriend who thinks highly of me." She did not understand the comment, but felt it best not to ask.

"Well," she said. "There's fresh coffee if you're interested."

"Ah, yes." He rose from his seat at the desk. "I could do to stretch my legs after that long meeting."

She retreated from his office and backed right into Jeremy. "Sorry," she said.

Jeremy was not paying enough attention to Rebecca; he was too busy looking amused as Mark exited the office and headed towards their break room.

"I can see the rumour is true," said Jeremy cheekily, calling after Mark.

"What's that? Rumour about what?" said Mark.

"About how gorgeous your bottom is," he said. "Nice arse, indeed."

Mark turned and gave him a look that might have liquefied steel, but he kept on walking just as Jeremy burst into adolescent peals of laughter; Mark continued on and went into the other room. "Oh, this will give material for months to come," said Jeremy, barely able to breathe. "You didn't overhear, did you?"

"I did not," said Rebecca.

Jeremy then explained what the head of Amnesty International, an old friend of his, had just told him their group had just heard at the meeting about shag flashbacks and gorgeous bottoms, and Rebecca blushed to deep crimson on Mark's behalf even as she was amused.

* * *

Notes:

Days of the week during EOR happen to line up with 2007, if you're curious.


	2. Part 2 of 3

**The Other Side of the Story**

By S. Faith, © 2009

Words: 23,105 (Part 2: 7,812)  
Rating: M / R  
Summary, Disclaimer, etc.: See Part 1.  
Add'l Notes: I could not have done this without C., or the transcribed subtitles for the movie. (Also, I've included a deleted scene, so if you're confused, that might be why.)

* * *

"I'm so sorry for the late notice. I hope this is not too inconvenient."

She looked to him, pulling his coat on.

"No," she said. "It's fine."

"I'm sorry," he said again. "After the… disastrous incident earlier, we had to recess the meeting, but we must get this taken care of by tomorrow's deadline."

"Really, it's all right," she said. "It would have otherwise just been me and my takeaway dinner."

"I do appreciate it, nonetheless," he said. "If you want to ride with me, we can pick up some takeaway and eat while we set things up."

It sounded like an excellent plan, especially since she did not drive her car to work that day, but she had to ask, "What about Bridget?"

"I already postponed our dinner plans," he said. "She understands. Giles will be over later with the rest of them. Hopefully it won't take too long."

"All right then."

Mark bought Chinese takeaway—beef and broccoli for her, and for himself a side order of noodles to tide him over until his dinner plans with Bridget—and they ate on the lower level as they organised the paperwork. At his bidding, she found a pitcher and some glasses for water after searching a bit in his very perplexing kitchen. She realised that he was not going to be done by the time the others attending the meeting would arrive, so, taking the pitcher and the water glasses up on a tray with her, she volunteered to wait on the ground floor so that when they came, she could show them to the meeting room.

Giles and the contingent of people who had attended the meeting earlier that day must have driven over in a sort of caravan, because the lot of them showed up at once, and she led them all to the meeting room.

After advising Mark would be there momentarily, she left the room, pulling the door closed behind her, then went wait in the foyer by Mark's front door for him to come upstairs. She felt really useless standing there, felt herself starting to pace. She hoped the gentlemen (and lady) in the meeting room at least had served themselves the water.

"Becky!" Mark called up from the lower level. "I could use a hand."

"Coming, I'm coming," she called back. Just then she thought she heard someone on the front porch, and leaned to the glass, but heard nothing further. She stepped away. "Two seconds. I'll be straight down."

She descended to the lower level again, found him standing there as if lost. "Yes?"

"Where did the prints of the graph end up? I can't find them anywhere."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't think you needed them with the large one on the board, so I put them back in your attaché." She went to his case and pulled them out.

He was clearly relieved, but tugged at his collar. She wondered if he was nervous having to face the people that he'd been so embarrassed in front of. "Tie or not?" he asked.

"Not."

She pulled a few pillows off of the sofa and laid down upon the floor, grabbing the telly remote. He looked to her, perplexed. "What are you doing?"

"I'll wait down here until the meeting's done."

"I would appreciate it if you came and took some notes. Shouldn't be more than an hour, and then you're free." He reached to take his tie off, then undid the first button. "Let's get on with it, shall we?"

She sighed, pushing herself up to stand again. "You are a very demanding man," she said half-jokingly, grabbing a notepad and a pen off of the table.

She followed him up the stairs and into the meeting room. She took a seat by the door, and flipped open the notebook, preparing to take notes. Without preamble the meeting began; however, Mark had only just begun to speak when a persistent knock was heard at the front door. Mark flashed a look to Rebecca; she rose, set the pad and pen down, and without a word went to answer it.

She wondered if it were Jeremy coming to provide some additional information; she swung open the door to see… well, not Jeremy at all.

Blonde, blue-eyed, grey coat, smudges of dirt on her face and bits of foliage in her hair—Rebecca knew at once this was Mark's beloved, that Mark had not been exaggerating at all describing her loveliness and spunk, especially as she stood there looking quite upset. Showing up at her boyfriend's house and finding another woman was reason enough for her to look that way, and yet, Rebecca could not help but feel intrigued by her passion. Even as she felt the pit of her stomach drop down at the immediate physical attraction to this woman, she managed a smile. "Bridget Jones."

She screwed up her features. "No, I'm Bridget Jones."

Rebecca laughed lightly. "That's what I meant."

"You must be…"

"Rebecca Gillies," supplied Rebecca, then gushed, "I've been so looking forward to meeting you after everything Mark's told me."

Bridget looked up at her almost suspiciously. "Why? What's he said?" She looked beyond Rebecca into the house. "Where is Mark?"

"Actually—"

Just then Mark called out, "Becky? Who is it?"

Bridget was clearly agitated. "'Becky'? Right." She stormed past Rebecca, heading for the source of Mark's voice.

This was the worst possible way to begin her acquaintance with Bridget. "Great," she muttered under her breath.

She followed Bridget just in time to hear her say, "Right—" then stop suddenly as she saw that the room was occupied with more than just Mark.

"Bridget," said Mark tersely.

"Hello, Mark," said Bridget; turning slowly to face the assembled, she continued, "hello… lawyers who work with Mark."

"Good evening," they all said in sync.

Bridget looked around herself. "Everything under control I see… um… excellent graph." She turned around to face Rebecca, saying inexplicably, "Lovely legs."

"Thank you," Rebecca whispered as Bridget passed by her for the hallway. Mark followed, and as he did, she met his eyes. "Sorry." He did not respond.

Rebecca went into the room as Mark pulled the door closed behind the two of them. It was not possible to make out what they were saying, only that they were talking, and then the sounds of their feet on the stairway down to the lower level.

Giles had already gotten to his feet, and, well-versed in the case at hand, decided to carry on with the meeting. Rebecca returned to her seat to take notes, writing down everything she could as a way to distract herself from the meeting she'd just had with Bridget.

After a few minutes, Mark did return, apologised for the disruption, and picked up the meeting as if nothing had occurred. Rebecca was dying to know if everything was all right between the two of them. She noticed, though, that some of the people at the near end of the table were smiling, and when she took a closer look at Mark, she understood why: he had traces of Bridget's lipstick on his mouth.

She grinned. Everything was indeed all right.

At the close of the meeting, Mark was quick to usher everyone out of his house. Even though she knew Bridget was waiting for him, Mark still offered to take Rebecca home. "No," she said insistently. "There's a Tube stop just 'round the corner from here. I'll be fine."

"It's late," said Mark. "It's dark. Please. It's no trouble at all."

"Mark," cut in Giles. "I'll take Rebecca home."

"You see? Problem solved," she said brightly, though she suspected Giles' ulterior motive was to get information out of her about Bridget, or about what had just happened.

As she buckled herself into the passenger seat of Giles' car, he turned to her and proved her right. "So," he said. "That was the legendary Bridget."

Rebecca couldn't keep herself from chuckling.

"Cute, though a bit on the mussed side," he continued. "What was that about?"

"I don't have any idea," she admitted.

"Looks like she was crawling about in the garden," Giles speculated.

It rather had, and she chuckled. She wondered if he would tell her the story if she asked.

………

The following morning, Mark came in a bit on the late side, but he looked content, so Rebecca was sure that everything had been sorted out. Still, she could not stop herself from asking, "Everything okay after last night?"

"Just fine," he said. "Apparently one of her friends said she saw me bringing you into the house, and her other friends—a bit on a paranoid side regarding relationships—suggested she come over and find out what was going on." Rebecca's stomach fell to the floor. "But I think I've sufficiently assured her that nothing's going on."

"I'm sorry to have inadvertently caused trouble," she said, then lowered her voice. "If it would help you could tell her you're really not my type."

He smiled. "Don't think that will be necessary," he said, then chuckled. "I wasn't even truly angry at her suspicions; her last boyfriend… let's just say such feelings would have been justified." Rebecca felt an immediate urge to slap Bridget's ex. "I especially couldn't be angry at her because—" He stopped, then smiled. "Well, 'impossibly cute' is the phrase that comes readily to mind."

Feeling relieved, she smiled. "I'm glad it all got sorted out."

"Me too. Obviously." He headed for his office, but paused and turned back. "She even agreed to come to the Law Council Dinner."

She blinked in her surprise. Mark had not yet asked? The dinner was on Friday of this week.

"I look forward to seeing her without leaves and twigs in her hair," she returned.

She could hear him chuckle as she entered his office, but decided she would not ask for further details about that aspect of the previous night.

………

Friday came before anyone knew it. She arrived early to the dinner and did not bring a date; she currently wasn't seeing anyone, but doubted she would have brought a girlfriend into the lion's den of conservatism, anyway. She spotted Mark almost immediately, and went over to him to say hello.

"You're looking very nice," he said.

"Thank you," she said. "Has Bridget arrived yet?"

"Um, yes," he said. "I had to direct her to the ladies' for a… makeup issue."

"Oh dear," she said, chuckling. "You look very nice, as well, though a bit of lint—" She brushed his lapel, and stopped when her fingers traced over a hard, square object in his breast pocket. "Mark!" she whispered. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes," he said. "Thought tonight might be the right night."

She smiled, then leaned closer to say, "Well, congratulations."

He smiled. "Thank you." Mark looked sharply to the side. "Bridget."

Rebecca turned as well. There was Bridget looking resplendent in a gold satin dress, her hair swept up, a smile on her face. Rebecca had to force herself to speak, so at a loss was she for words. "Hello," said Rebecca, striving for a neutral tone. Regardless of how she felt, Mark was her boss and something of a friend, and Bridget was the woman he loved; presumably Bridget had expressed feelings of love for him too, or else he would not be preparing to propose. She also would not have looked so murderously jealous at Rebecca upon their initial meeting.

There were introductions to some of Mark's colleagues, and Rebecca was secretly pleased when Bridget had laughed in Horatio's face, but all the while she was preoccupied by her thoughts. She was the prettiest woman in the room, vibrant, radiant, and full of life, a sincere smile to everyone she met, her eyes flashing bright blue; as the night passed she continued to try to force herself not to keep looking at Bridget, but did not do a particularly good job of it, could not keep a beaming smile off of her own face as she did.

She left the dinner as soon as she could after the quiz and headed straight for home. She treated herself to a long bath, and as she floated in the fragrant, warm water, she closed her eyes; to her dismay she could only conjure in her head images of the evening, of Bridget in her beautiful dress, being charming and graceful and….

She leaned back even further to submerge herself fully in the water. _This will not do at all_, she thought, even as she imagined, unbidden and unwanted, the scene after dinner, perhaps a stroll along the Thames on their way home, Mark taking her hands, asking her to marry him…

She sat up suddenly, more conflicted than she had felt in a great long while. She was very fond of Mark and wanted him to be happy; God knows he had not been so in a very long time, and Bridget, as different as she seemed to be from him, obviously made him very happy. She reminded herself again that Mark was her boss, and it was improper for her to be longing after Bridget like some heartsick teenager.

She resolved on Monday morning to respond as enthusiastically as she could to the engagement announcement, because truly she was happy for the both of them; but the pain to her own heart meant that that enthusiasm would require acting worthy of a BAFTA award.

………

After a weekend of lethargy and too many chocolate biscuits—for which she paid the price in the form of a spot on her chin—she was on the morning train headed for work. She was the first to arrive, which was by design; she figured would give her time to compose herself. Mark arrived on time with a smile on his face, bearing once again a pastry for Rebecca.

"Good morning," he said, setting it down, then heading directly for his office.

"Good morning," she said, shocked he did not say more, surprised by this second pastry in as many months. "So how did your weekend turn out?"

"I can't complain," he said just as he passed through the door and out of sight.

Her curiosity was once again piqued, and she followed him into his office.

"What happened?" she asked in something of a stage whisper.

"Nothing," he said.

"What do you mean, 'nothing'?"

"The time was… not right, shall we say."

_Ah_, thought Rebecca, _no engagement to announce, at least not today._

"However," he continued, "I have rather a consolation prize."

"Oh?"

"Yes," he said, "though I am afraid I may need a little help on the follow through."

She did not understand the elusiveness of his answers. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"I have proposed only a skiing mini-break holiday in the very near future," he said, "as in, this _weekend_ near future, for which I am not at all prepared. I need a relatively nearby spot, as we have a previous engagement, lunch with her parents on Sunday."

She smiled, thinking of the resort her father always liked to take her during school holidays. "I have a lovely suggestion," she said. "I'll get the contact information for you as I eat my pastry. Thank you again for that."

"Think nothing of it."

Before she left, she paused at the door, suddenly too curious about Bridget's family to not ask. "Bridget's parents, eh? Must be serious," she said with a smile.

He smiled, but it looked a little forced. "Her parents and my parents are actually long time friends," he said. "And her father is quite a nice man. Truth be told, though, her mother can be a little hard to take. She is, more often than not, very bad for Bridget's mood and self-esteem, and Bridget is too nice to say no when she should." He sat at his desk. "But she is Bridget's mother, and I love Bridget, so…"

"You will bear it as best you can."

At that he offered a more genuine smile. "Yes. Something like that." He then turned to a pile of papers on his desk, his unspoken way of heralding the start of his work day. Without another word she retreated back to her desk to devour her pastry and bring up a browser search window.

"Well, well!" It was Giles surprising her from just behind her shoulder. "Planning a little trip?"

"Not me," she said, copying the URL of the villa's website into an email and sending it off to Mark.

"Mark? Taking that adorable girl of his to Austria?" Giles asked, clearly having seen the email. She looked back over her shoulder, saw him gazing at the screen with greedy eyes.

"This weekend."

"Very nice," said Giles.

"My family's been going there for years."

"We'll miss him at the retreat this weekend."

Mark was never keen on those anyway and was probably happy for the excuse to miss it. "I'm sure everyone will understand given the circumstances."

"Of course," he said, then added, as if inspired, "Ask Mark if we could come too. We could move the getaway from Horatio's bloody dank and dismal cottage to there."

"Giles, I don't know," she began, though quite secretly pleased at the prospect of spending a weekend in close proximity to Bridget.

Just as she said this, her incoming email chime rang, and she pulled it up to read.

_All booked up. Great suggestion. Thank you, from both of us. Maybe the time will be right, this time… Mark_

"Come on," said Giles. "Ask him or I will."

She rose and strode to Mark's office, knocking on the open door. He looked up, saw Rebecca, saw Giles, and furrowed his brows. "May I help you?"

"Mark," said Rebecca, "what do you think of the lot of us having a weekend in Austria, too? Would you mind?"

He was inscrutable for many moments until he smiled. "No, of course not," he said. "It's a big place, and I'm sure Bridget would be happy to see you all again."

Rebecca smiled, relieved that she didn't have to hide how thrilled she was to be going. "Terrific! Well, we shan't bother you further, Mark."

They walked away and after getting a list of who would be going from Giles, Rebecca got on the line with the resort to book everyone in before calling to arrange flights. Rebecca replaced the phone, grinning like a fool. It would be a lovely weekend, indeed, and she fully anticipated Mark returning to England an engaged man.

………

For a group numbering eight, the only flight available was very early in the morning on Saturday, so they were checked in and on the slopes before noon. They had each completed a run and were just about to have another go when they encountered Mark and Bridget.

Specifically, Bridget, clad in her pink ski outfit and equally pink and charming pom-pom adorned hat, appeared first and landed at Rebecca's feet in a most unceremonious manner, looking up in surprise.

"Rebecca! What are you doing here?"

Confused, she asked, "Didn't Mark tell you we were coming?"

"No," she said, glancing momentarily to Giles. "No, he didn't."

"It was actually me who recommended the place," said Rebecca proudly, beaming a smile. "You know, I've been coming here since I was eleven."

Bridget looked doubtful. "Really?"

She smiled, and held out a hand to offer to help her up. "Come on. Up you get." Along with Giles, they pulled Bridget and her tangle of skis upright. "Come on. There you go."

Bridget said, brushing snow from herself, "Thanks."

Mark appeared at last and asked, "You all right?"

"Yes, fine," she replied automatically; clearly there was something on her mind, and Rebecca guessed what it might be. "Thanks."

Mark drew his brows together. "You sure?"

Bridget pursed her lips. "Why is Rebecca here?" she asked in a hushed voice.

Mark looked like he wanted to talk about anything but this. He pulled her aside and spoke quietly to her, presumably to explain everything.

"Come on you two," piped up Giles. "Let's crack on, shall we?"

"Actually," said Bridget, "I might just sit this one out. You head on."

"See you down there," said Rebecca.

"You sure?" asked Mark, his concern evident.

"Absolutely," Bridget replied. "I'll be fine in a minute."

"All right," said Mark. "See you at the base camp then."

As they headed off, Rebecca turned to see Bridget smiling and waving. She had seemed to take it well, Rebecca thought, and she said as much to Mark after they reached the base of the hill.

"Yes, I suppose," he said, "though in retrospect I should have told her sooner about your all being here."

"She did seem rather shocked."

"Maybe I should have stayed with her," he said. "This is, after all, supposed to be our weekend."

"You'll have plenty of time tonight," Rebecca reassured.

The group of nine of them went and ordered cocoa; Mark got two, anticipating that Bridget would join them at any moment. She did not. As the minutes passed, he became noticeably edgy.

"Where can she be?" he asked of no one in particular.

"Maybe she truly sat this one out," said Giles.

"Maybe," Rebecca sat. "She didn't look terribly experienced."

"She told me she was," said Mark.

Mark evidently did not fully grasp that women sometimes told little white lies to please their partners. She did not think it was the time to illuminate him on the subject.

Eventually they departed the lodge and headed back outside, deciding to take the lift once again for a ski. She shared a lift with Mark but he was clearly distracted, his eyes scanning the landscape for Bridget's distinctive ski outfit and even more distinctive hat.

At the top of the run, they stood around waiting for the mountain slope to clear enough to start down. Mark did not seem in much of a talkative mood. Suddenly she saw Mark's head snap around as if he'd heard a snippet of conversation, reinforced by his saying, "Excuse me, did you just say 'pink suit'?"

The pair of strangers, an older man and woman, nodded. "Yes," said the woman, her voice lilting with a Scottish brogue. "Oh, was a sight to see, poor thing racing down the mountain, shrieking like a banshee, wildly out of control—can only hope the poor lass is all right."

"Went through a speed trial race course, I hear," said the elderly man. "Surprised you haven't heard. No one's talking about anything else up here."

Rebecca felt herself go leaden all over. It had to have been Bridget.

Mark remained the picture of cool. "Which way did she go?"

"Hm, Down the eastern face, I believe," said the man. "That way."

"Thank you very much." He pulled his goggles on and headed in the direction the man had indicated.

"Mark!" Rebecca called. "Shall I go with you?"

He stopped, obviously deep in thought, until he looked at her and said, "No. If you would go to the infirmary and make sure—make sure she's not injured."

"Yes, yes. Of course."

They parted ways; Rebecca went down the slope then made directly for the infirmary. It was empty, and the doctor and nurse on duty said that they had not had anyone matching that description come in that day. Rebecca felt better for a moment only until she remembered that could very well mean she hadn't made it into the infirmary—

"Is there anywhere else she might have been taken to?"

"No," affirmed the nurse. "If someone's found hurt on the slopes, they're brought here."

"And we've had no airlifts that I am aware of," added the doctor. "A helicopter would be difficult not to hear."

Rebecca managed a weak smile. "Thanks."

She left the infirmary, and, not sure where else to go, headed back to the lodge. She decided to return to her room and order dinner in, figuring that if Mark wanted to find her for a status report, it would be easiest to do so in her room. After all, it might take a bit of time to search for Bridget to his satisfaction, knowing Mark as she did.

She was just finishing her meal when her room phone rang.

"This is Rebecca," she said cautiously.

"Rebecca." It was Mark, voice gruff and sharp. "I've found Bridget. She's all right."

"Oh," she said, very much relieved to hear the words, but not the tone. "I'm glad to hear."

"Yes," he said.

After a moment, she asked, "What's wrong?"

Mark exhaled loudly. "We had a bit of a row."

"I'm sorry," she said, then added, "I'm sure she's sorry deep down for making you worry."

"I hope so," he said, still sounding uncharacteristically angry. "Well. Thought you'd want to know she's safe. Thanks for your help."

"Anytime," she responded as she hung up.

She only saw Mark and Bridget as she was going for breakfast the next morning. She knew the pair of them had to leave for England in order to meet that parental luncheon obligation. Their body language concerned her though; Mark had his shoulders squared and was walking with purpose forward; Bridget was a pace behind him, slightly hunched, looking to her feet, then to him, then down again. She heard Mark brusquely call Bridget's name, probably in an effort to get her to catch up. He did, after all, have a longer stride than she did.

She hoped everything was okay.

Rebecca returned to her own flat in the early evening on Sunday. She had not been able to think of anything but that last vision of the two of them acting so coolly as they left the ski resort, and had to know how things had turned out after the flight, the lunch, the long drive back from Grafton Underwood.

She picked up the phone and dialled his home number. She reasoned if he were still not at home, or was not available to pick up, she could leave a message on his answerphone. She recalled from the meeting, from his checking for messages, that his answerphone was in the kitchen. It rang a few times, then she got his amusingly staid outgoing message. Clearing her throat, it beeped, and she left a message of her own, wanting to ask without asking.

"Mark, it's Rebecca. Are you there?" She paused a beat. "Obviously not. Probably still out with Bridget." She felt a twinge of… well, she hated to think of it as jealousy, the thought of Bridget snug in his arms… but she knew that it was. "Um, anyway, I hope lunch with the parents went well." She recalled his reluctance, and said with a wry smile, "I'm sure you were very dutiful and very polite, as usual. Uh, whatever. Anyway.... Look, maybe give me a ring when you get back. I thought I might pop around for a nightcap." She realised she was talking nonsense, and wrapped up with, "But I suppose that's a silly idea. Bridget's probably there. Sleep tight."

She hung up, then let out a breath. She had always hated leaving answerphone messages.

………

It was nine a.m. and still no Mark, which was very unusual for him. She kept vacillating between being sure it was for happy reasons, and sure it was because the fight was still unresolved. When he finally did arrive, his features were etched in hard lines and dark. It was not easy to tell with him, but he did not look happy; for a brief moment she secretly hoped Bridget had said no to his proposal, but quickly chided herself for such selfish fantasy. "Morning," he said in a low tone, passing by and heading directly into his office.

He closed the door.

Within a few minutes, her phone rang. She glanced down. It was an inside line. Mark.

"Yes?"

"Rebecca," he said. "Please come to my office."

"Be right there."

She stood, went in, feeling distinctly unsure about whether this was boss to employee, or friend to friend. "Yes?"

"Close the door, please."

She did.

"What's going on?" she ventured.

He looked at her with a very piercing stare for many moments, so long it made her a little uncomfortable. Finally, he spoke.

"Bridget left me last night."

She felt her stomach drop to the floor, her hand come up to her mouth.

"Oh, Mark, _no_."

"Unfortunately, it's true," he said. He finally glanced down. "I just wanted you to know."

"What on earth happened?" she blurted.

He swallowed hard. "We had that fight, and it really underscored how different we are. Drove a wedge between us that we weren't able to overcome all weekend." Awful did not begin to describe how she felt. He cleared his throat and continued. "For three minutes we thought we might be parents. It did not go well."

"I'm sorry."

He went on as if she hadn't spoken. "Then we went to the lunch, and her parents had invited mine as well as other family friends. They started to ask about when we were getting married."

"But you wanted that."

"The pressure was incredible," he continued. "It's one thing to consider proposing after two months. It's another to have a group of your elders think you should be thinking about it. I hadn't had a chance to ask, and I had no idea how Bridget really felt. So when asked point blank, I said we weren't thinking of it yet. She agreed, but I could tell that she was disappointed. She tried to allude to it in the car, but I did not want to have that conversation while driving. I wanted to have a rational discussion in a place of comfort. I wish now I had, like always, just gone to Bridget's flat. Instead, as if on autopilot, I went directly for my house.

"Once we got inside, we went downstairs for some wine, I went to use the loo… and when I came out, she asked me directly if you and I were having an affair."

"_What?_" she asked, completely stunned. "Where did that come from?"

"I thought it had to do with your presence at the resort, or maybe the fact that I went off for a ski when she said it was all right for me to do so… but, as it turned out, the true catalyst I discovered when I came back from my head-clearing walk."

"I don't understand."

"It would seem your answerphone message was particularly badly timed."

"Oh, Jesus, Mark," she said, horrified, thinking back to what she said about Bridget's parents, the nightcap…. "I am so sorry. Please, let me talk to her, let me tell her—"

"No," he said curtly. "The very accusation—I'm hurt that she trusted me, _trusts_ me that little." He pursed his lips. "And I won't be reduced to begging her to believe me."

"Mark, I am…" She trailed off. She did not know what to say; she felt guilty for having harboured an attraction to Bridget at all, felt guilty for even momentarily hoping she'd refused his proposal, felt guilty for her inadvertent part in the split. She added at last, "So sorry."

"Perhaps we were just too different to be compatible in the long term," he said, looking quite wistful as he spoke. "She can be very immature, too spontaneous, extremely messy, late to everything, not to mention her nave, liberal views…" As he detailed her faults, it seemed to Rebecca that he didn't despise them so much as hold them dear. "Clearly we have different life goals…. Perhaps it was best it ended sooner rather than later."

She knew it wasn't true, as happy as she had made him, and she suspected he felt the same; he was only trying to rationalise why this had ended the way it had in order to console himself. "If there's anything I can do," she offered, "don't hesitate to ask."

He forced a stiff smile. "Thank you, Becky," he said. "Right now I could use a strong, dark cup of coffee. I have to focus on working."

"Sure." She backed away from his desk to leave.

"Close the door, please."

She went to get a mug of black coffee for him. Her thoughts were in turmoil, wanting desperately to help in some way, but aside from approaching Bridget and telling her the truth, she could think of nothing. Hopefully before long she would call him, or he would set aside his pride and call her, and they would work things out.

"Here you are," she said, setting the coffee on his desk.

"Thank you," he said, not looking up. "I would prefer not to be disturbed today, so I'm routing it so all of my calls go to you, but…" He paused. "…should Bridget call, please pass her right through."

As she left for the evening, she knocked lightly on his door then pushed it aside. He was hard at work. It broke her heart a little.

"Just wanted to let you know I was leaving," she said. "So you can switch your phone back to normal."

"Mm, yes, thank you." He looked to her at last. "No calls for me?"

He'd had a couple of business-related calls, but she knew that's not what he meant. She shook her head. "Sorry."

There was a moment where he could not adequately hide his disappointment; he looked down to camouflage it. "Thank you," he said, then dove back into work. "Good night."

………

The week dragged on, and with each day Mark turned more and more into the man she knew prior to January: taciturn, keeping to himself, eating lunch in his office, coming into the office very early in the morning and staying late into the evening. She did not need to ask him if he had spoken to Bridget. His demeanour spoke volumes.

The only thing that brought the faintest hint of a smile to his face was the announcement by Jeremy of the birth of his son, and even then it was a wistful smile. Jeremy took some time off to be home with his wife and new baby, and Mark seemed all too eager to take on the extra work.

By the end of the week Rebecca managed to convince him to join her for a drink at the bar of a local restaurant. She sensed that for all his reticence, he really wanted to talk about it more with someone.

After a second tumbler of scotch and soda, Mark's stoic faade began to crumble.

"A son," he said, idly twirling a keychain around on his finger before palming it. "Another son for Jeremy. Good for him." He swirled the dregs of amber liquid around the bottom of the tumbler. "The thought of being a father delighted me," he continued. "Sure, it's a scary thing to contemplate; any man is, I think, terrified the first time. But I was delighted, more delighted than I thought the prospect could ever make me." He paused to take in the last of his drink. "And then Bridget said these things that just confused and perplexed me…" He was silent for a few minutes, then looked piercingly at Rebecca. "Is it wrong to want to uphold a family tradition when it comes to the birth of a child, a son?"

"I suppose it depends on the tradition," she said gently, cautioning a guess as to what the tradition might have been, "and how it might conflict with what the child's mother wants."

He sighed, absently fiddling with the key ring in his hand again. "Don't think I don't know compromise is necessary," he said resignedly. "But to be painted as such an autocratic monster for wanting to give a child a premium education…"

Her guess had been correct. "Maybe she was just as surprised by what you said, as you were by what she said," Rebecca said tentatively. "And a woman who thinks she might be pregnant does not want one of the first things her partner to say to be that he can't wait to send the child off to school and away from home."

At that he very obviously clenched his jaw and looked down, dropping the key ring onto the table. "Of course I didn't mean that," he said at last, staring into his empty tumbler. It was a little while before he scoffed a short, bitter laugh. "Although perhaps suggesting visits to Eton was not the wisest thing for me to say before even saying how happy I was at the possibility of having a child with her."

"I'm sorry," she said in a sympathetic voice.

"Not as sorry as I am," he said. "I should not let her storm off after that fight. I should have gone after her and apologised. Talked to her. Assured her that traditions were not all I was looking forward to."

She wanted to shout at him and tell him it wasn't too late for apologies, but he only would have reminded her that it was Bridget who chucked him for thinking he was having an affair. Instead she only smiled. "I think someday you'll make a fine father."

"If I can ever get my bloody act together with the right woman," he said, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly in a smile; the attempt at levity was relief to hear, and she chuckled. She was as sure as anything, though, that he thought of Bridget as the right woman.

He excused himself to use the loo, and only then was she able to see that the key fob he had been holding, and she realised it was for Newcastle United… the one Bridget had given to him for Valentine's. What was particularly sad to her was that there was a key on the ring; she didn't have to ask Mark to know which door that key opened.

………

"Rebecca. I need a word with you."

Rebecca placed the receiver back on her phone, then walked over to Jeremy's office. He was looking at something on his screen, but looked up as she appeared in the door frame, and smiled.

"Please, close the door."

She did so. She had a strange foreboding about this impromptu meeting.

He continued, "I had an idea, and wanted your input."

"Certainly."

He put his elbows on his desk, steepling his fingers. "We're christening the baby in April, and I'd like to ask Mark to be the godfather."

Rebecca was taken aback. Why was he asking her advice on such a personal matter? "I don't know that he goes to church, but I think he believes in God and considers himself a Christian, if that's what you're asking," she said with some trepidation.

Jeremy laughed. "Sorry," he said. "I only wanted to know if you think he'd accept."

"I don't see why he wouldn't," she replied. "You and Mark are close enough. Honestly, I should think that you'd know better than me, though."

Jeremy grinned, lowering his hands. "My wife has asked Bridget to be godmother."

Rebecca's brows shot up in her surprise.

"Don't tell him," Jeremy continued. "Think I'd kind of like to surprise him."

"I think if he knew that, he'd be even more likely to accept."

"Ah, but I don't want him to accept just to see Bridget," said Jeremy. "That girl has a very powerful pull on Mark."

"I thought you liked her."

"Don't get me wrong, I adore Bee," he said. "But I have never seen Mark so in love with anyone else before."

Rebecca did not understand how this was a negative thing, but she guessed she had always been something of a romantic at heart.

………

As March trudged on into April, it became clear that Mark's reversion into the staid, serious man he'd once been was complete. She tried desperately to keep the lines of communication open with him, because she did think of him as more than a boss; he was a friend, and she cared about his happiness.

At least he'd stopped closing his office door.

It was during lunch one day as she passed by his office to get a new pen from the supply cupboard that she realised that while Mark was in there, he was not working, but rather, was reading a book, and from the look of it, it was not a dusty law tome. She paused, then stepped back to try to determine what he was reading. He was so engrossed, so studiously reading, that he did not notice she'd stopped. Upon closer scrutiny, she almost laughed aloud when she saw the book's title:

_Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus._

Rebecca had never seen him read a book for pleasure before, at least not while at the office. He was the sort of man who read law journals for fun. She felt herself smiling warmly; she knew by whose influence this must have been sparked.

He glanced up at that moment, and smiled abashedly.

"Interesting choice," she said amusedly.

"It was something I had… heard about," he said.

"And?"

He motioned that she should come in and close the door, and when she did, he continued, "It's a bit ridiculous, to be honest."

She had only a passing familiarity with the book, but pressed him with, "What's ridiculous about it?"

"Well, the whole notion of men retreating to a cave."

"A cave?"

"Being so focused on a big problem that all other, smaller problems fade into the background."

"Oh, no," said Rebecca. "I've never known you to do that."

"You're being facetious," he said, fixing her with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. "And then there's this bit." He flipped through the pages. "Awarding and taking away of points."

"Points?"

"And why men get defensive. It's twisted logic."

"What do you mean?"

"It's easier if I just read this." He found the paragraph he wanted to cite, then began to speak in his barrister-in-court voice. "'A man may become so angry at a woman when he has made the mistake and the woman is upset. His upset is proportional to the size of his mistake. A little mistake makes him less defensive, while a big mistake makes him much more defensive. Sometimes women wonder why a man doesn't say he is sorry for a big mistake. The answer is he is afraid of not being forgiven. It is too painful to acknowledge that he has failed her in some way. Instead of saying he is sorry he may become angry with her for being upset and give her penalty points.' Penalty points? Like I said… just ridiculous."

She wondered: if he thought it was so ridiculous, why was it that he was almost finished with the book? She said nothing of the kind though, only asked, "Was there anything you should have said you were sorry about?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it again and simply looked at her. "I suppose I could have handled things differently," he said after a moment. "Heaven knows I've had weeks to think about it. Should have gone after her after the test proved negative. Should have—" He stopped, his face going slightly pale. "Should have said I was sorry straightaway, instead of leaving everything unresolved to turn into… what it did." He folded the book shut. "Perhaps if I had not already felt so defensive, I would have dignified her question with an answer, and I wouldn't be in this mess."

"Question?"

He gave her a hard look. Rebecca then knew: her question about the supposed affair.

"Oh." She drew her brows together. "So you never denied it?"

He looked down to the book cover. "I did not."

She didn't speak for a moment, so surprised was she. "Oh, _Mark_. After what you said about her past relationships, and such suspicions being justified…"

She wasn't sure he was going to reply, and he didn't, except to say, "I really blew it."

She thought of the christening that was happening that Saturday, knew that Jeremy wanted Bridget's presence to be a surprise, but Mark looked so despondent, had been so down for so long, that she decided on the spot to tell him.

"Mark," she said gently. "You can talk to her this weekend. Bridget's going to be the baby's godmother."

He looked like he could not comprehend what she was saying. "But Jeremy said Magda was asking someone called Fiona."

"Jeremy lied because he wanted you to be surprised on Saturday," she said, her own stomach fluttering a bit at the prospect of seeing Bridget again. "But I want you to be prepared. To talk to her. To see if you can't work things out."

For the first time since Bridget had left him, he looked him he had a little hope. "Yes," he said. "Yes. That's a very good idea."

"My offer still stands," said Rebecca.

"Offer?"

"To assure Bridget you're not my type."

He smiled.

"Only if you need," she added.

"I'll keep it in mind."

* * *

End Note:

Quote from _Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus_ by John Gray, Ph.D., used without permission, but, I believe, within the boundaries of Fair Use.


	3. Part 3 of 3

**The Other Side of the Story**

By S. Faith, © 2009

Words: 23,105 (Part 3: 7,556)  
Summary, Disclaimer, etc.: See Part 1.

* * *

The day of the christening brought gorgeous, sunny weather. In an effort to be economical not only about parking availability but petrol, Mark had offered her a lift to the actual ceremony, then the party afterward at Jeremy's. She had chosen a pale cream dress and a white wide-brimmed hat, which she thought appropriate for the occasion, though it had been quite some time since she had attended a christening. After slipping into her favourite spring coat, a tartan in pale pink, they headed for the church; upon arrival, her eyes immediately scanned the place for Bridget, who was clearly not yet there. They took a seat in the front pew as others filed in.

The time approached for the ceremony to begin; not only was there no Bridget, but Mark commented that Magda was not there, either, pointing out that Jeremy sat on the other side of the aisle with the baby in his arms. The vicar came out in his finest vestments, looking to Jeremy expectantly. Jeremy turned to the front door of the church, then back to the vicar, mouthing, "Any time now."

She heard Mark chuckle low in his throat. She looked to him. He explained: "Bridget's late, as usual."

A commotion at the front door caused all present to look in that direction. "Sorry," said a red-haired woman rushing in to the front, holding her white hat into place. Magda.

Directly behind Magda was Bridget. Rebecca thought she'd be prepared to see Bridget again, but… the pink in her cheeks matching the pink of the jacket over her cheery yellow dress, her blonde hair a little windblown before she smoothed it down as she smiled to cover up her embarrassment. At that moment, Bridget saw Rebecca; something akin to disappointment washed over her face before her eyes fixed with Mark's momentarily. He rose from his seat to join her at the front of the church.

The ceremony was uneventful, or at least Rebecca thought it was; she spent the entire time watching Bridget and trying not to look like she was. Rebecca wondered if in her haste Bridget had accidentally chosen a dress that showed so much cleavage, or if she'd known Mark would be there…

At the conclusion, Mark clearly tried to make his way to her, maybe to pull her aside to talk to her, but she shot off with her friend before he reached her. Mark sighed, looking to his feet. "Well, I suppose there's still the party," he said. "We should head to Jeremy's."

She patted his arm reassuringly. "Yeah."

He turned towards the church door. She walked with him. As they did, she spotted an older couple at the rear who were clearly scrutinising not just Mark, but her. The woman especially had a rather nasty expression. "Mark," she asked quietly, "who are they?"

He didn't answer, only smiled politely as they passed them by, then descended the stairs and went to Mark's car.

After they closed the car doors, buckled in, and engaged the engine, Mark finally answered her question. "Bridget's parents."

"Oh."

They arrived at the party and did not see Bridget much. Whenever Mark made progress towards her, she ducked and dodged to avoid talking to him. As the afternoon passed, Mark became more and more tense and agitated. Rebecca did not have to ask why. "Mark," she said. "Let's walk 'round the garden. Maybe you'll feel better."

He nodded. "Yes. Maybe I'll bump into Bridget, too."

They were partway around the rather large garden when a swarm of children playing chase nearly knocked them over. Within a few minutes she found herself chasing them back; the kids were clearly surprised that an adult was doing so, and shrieked with delight as they turned around and chased her again. As she feigned taking refuge by Mark, he smiled and tried to play along, but she could see his heart was not in it.

As the children fluttered off and she attempted to regain her breath, she saw that distinct pink/yellow combination heading into the house. "Mark," she said. She needn't have pointed, though; he'd already seen what she'd seen, and he headed quickly towards the house.

She returned to the stone bench under a tree upon which she had earlier deposited her coat and bag. She slipped on the coat as the air was starting to cool and a storm seemed likely to roll in, and decided to wait for Mark there. The breeze blew at wisps of her hair, but her eyes never left the door of the house. She was on tenterhooks waiting to see some sign of how their talk had gone.

She didn't have on a watch, but she didn't think it had been very long before Mark exited through the same door. Her heart sank to her feet. He didn't look happy, and his stride was long and determined. Without conscious thought she jumped up and headed towards him. "Mark!" she said. "How did it go?"

"Do you have your things?" he asked gruffly.

"What?"

"Your coat. Your bag."

"Uh," she said; she would have thought her coat was obvious. "Yes. My hat's in the car."

"We're leaving," he said, not once stopping.

As Rebecca went to sit in the car she turned and locked eyes with Bridget, who had clearly followed Mark out of the house. Rebecca felt a smile spread on her face, even as she saw that Bridget looked visibly upset.

She knew without asking that the talk had not gone well.

Halfway through the drive back to Rebecca's place, she asked, "Want to talk about what happened?"

He did not say a word. The discomfort of the silence between them was to the point where she thought maybe he'd stepped over the line. It wasn't until he pulled up to her building that he responded. "She's back with her ex," he said.

Rebecca exhaled. "I'm sorry."

The cords in his neck went taut for a moment before they loosened, but he did not look at her. "I'll… see you on Monday."

"Yes," she said. "See you then."

She walked towards her building but turned to see Mark drive away, pealing off a little more quickly than strictly necessary. She felt badly for Mark; she felt even worse for realising she had not gotten over her own attraction to Bridget.

………

Through the rest of April and mostly into May, Rebecca managed to reclaim some of the footing she'd gained during Mark's time with Bridget; they sometimes even had lunch together, conversed easily on a variety of subjects. She was even able to elicit an occasional smile. However, she knew he spent most of his evenings either working or home alone. She did not dare ask if he was trying to find someone new. It was obvious he hadn't moved on. In all honestly, she understood. She had hardly felt able to find anyone new herself, and she had only ever longed for Bridget from afar. She could not imagine how difficult it must have been for Mark.

"It's really good of you," said Giles as he poured himself an overly large mug of coffee one morning. "Being such a good friend to Mark."

"I only wish there were more I could do," she said, thinking specifically about telling Bridget that Mark had never been untrue.

Giles smiled. "I bet. You've been scads more patient than a lot of other women would be."

"Patient?"

"Well…" He stopped, lowering his voice. "Mark's not exactly responding, is he? Must really have had his heart broken but good."

In that instant, Rebecca realised Giles was under the impression that she wanted Mark as her own. "I have no ulterior motive than to be a friend."

Giles winked. "Right."

She realised there might have been a very good reason that Giles was now a single man. "I have to get back to work," she said, biting her tongue on what she truly wanted to say to him.

………

It had been a surprisingly stormy and muggy May, and the one night where the weather finally seemed to break was the first night in almost a week where Rebecca was actually able to fall asleep and stay asleep. The telephone ringing startled Rebecca out of that welcome state. Blearily she opened her eyes, blinking and trying to adjust and focus her eyes on the brightness of the digital clock on the bedside table. Nearly midnight. Who on earth was calling?

She answered with a scratchy, sleepy voice. "Hello?"

"Rebecca. It's Mark." The panicked tone in Mark's own voice brought her to instant wakefulness.

"What's wrong?"

"I know it's late but I need you to come meet me down at the office. It's very important."

"What is it?"

"I'll explain once you get here."

Quickly she dressed, pulled her hair back into a ponytail and patted at her face with some loose powder to look somewhat presentable (because she had no idea what or whom awaited her at the other end), before jumping into her car for the short drive. The drive seemed interminable, mostly due to the uncertainty waiting for her. As she parked the car along the street, she glanced up and saw that the office was ablaze with lights and movement. It did not help the mounting anxiety she felt; she searched her memory for possibilities. Had something gone wrong with the Congolese nurse's resident status, or the Mexicans? Was it instead to do with the Peruvians, with whom they were not scheduled to meet for at least another week?

She opened the door, threw her purse and jacket down at her desk before going to Mark's office. "I got here as quickly as—oh. Hello."

Seated across from Mark's desk was, surprisingly enough, Jeremy's wife Magda, as well as three individuals she had never met before, a man and two women, all of whom looked sepulchral and a touch confused as they looked up at her. This was not at all what she was expecting. Mark had the telephone receiver up to his ear, but put his hand over the mouthpiece and said, "I need you to look into booking me on the next possible flight to Lyon."

Lyon? "Absolutely."

She returned to her desk, opened her rolodex, and started making calls. She couldn't find that anyone left for Lyon before nine in the morning, so she went back to Mark's door to let him know.

"That's fine," he said. "Earliest, and fastest flight, please. I have more calls to make. In fact, if you could locate home or mobile numbers for these individuals…."

She reached forward and took the list from him. "Yes."

"I feel like such a dupe." This came, in a throaty, emotional voice, from the blonde woman at Mark's desk. "I don't know what I'll do if you can't get her out."

"I'll do whatever I can," said Mark tersely. "We have to remain calm."

"I know you will," said the other, a brunette, just as she was walking away.

After much digging, Rebecca was able to locate at least a home number for each individual and a mobile for most of the others; as she found them, she messaged them to Mark, who replied to every one of them with a _Thank you_. She could hear that he was on the telephone nearly nonstop. She did not dare to interrupt further.

It was nearly three when Mark led the group out of his office.

"I've done all I can do for now," he said. "I'll leave for France in the morning. I'll keep you up to date as I can. Go home and get some sleep. Sharon, you especially must be exhausted after your flight."

"Don't know how we'll ever be able to thank you," said the man, tall, lanky, his short dark hair a mess.

"No need to thank me," he said. "I'm very glad you came to me for this."

Magda took Mark's hands in hers, looked up at him earnestly. "I have every confidence in you, Mark. She's in the best possible hands."

He only smiled stiffly. "I'll do everything in my power. I promise you."

With that, Magda nodded once, then released his hands. "Try to sleep yourself?" she said.

"Doubtful," he said. "But I'll try."

It was after they left that Mark sat down at his desk once more, his head heavily in his hands, exhaling deeply. "Mark," she said. "What's going on?"

She thought maybe he hadn't heard, so long was his silence, but then he spoke. When he looked up at her, she was shocked at the change in his expression. He was scared beyond reason. "Bridget's been jailed in Thailand on suspicion of drug smuggling."

"Oh my God," she said. She felt the blood drain from her face.

"A man Sharon met there gave her a gift which was unknowingly packed with cocaine," he explained, regaining a little of his composure. "And unfortunately Bridget put it in her own bag for transport as Sharon had run out of room."

She felt a little dizzy. She could only imagine how Mark felt.

"Magda's right," said Rebecca. "Bridget's in excellent hands."

He offered that stiff smile again. "Even if she won't have me," he said, "there is nothing I wouldn't do to get her home."

She smiled tenderly, patted his shoulder reassuringly. "I don't doubt that."

"Well. I have a little packing to do before I get to the airport. Why don't you go back to your place and get a few more hours of sleep? Take off the morning." He tried to stifle a yawn, but couldn't. "I'll likely need to do more travelling to get to the bottom of this."

She understood what he was asking: to be available to make more arrangements for him if needed. "Sure. Have a good flight, and be careful driving."

Wearily he smiled. "I'll probably get a car to take me to the airport. Don't worry."

"I meant home."

He nodded. "Talk to you soon."

………

It was left to Rebecca to advise Jeremy, Giles and the others in the office where Mark was, though when asked, she couldn't honestly say how long it would take. They were more than willing to take care of handling whatever of Mark's work they could, and Rebecca made arrangements to postpone anything they couldn't.

It wasn't until the afternoon of the day following his departure that she next heard from Mark. He needed passage to Dubai, needed for her to arrange the flight. "I'll find a place on my own to stay, if I'm even here long enough to stay overnight."

"Dubai?"

"That's where the suspect is. Jed. Impossible to extradite people from. The Home Secretary's working with our ambassador in Riyadh. We have to move fast, especially if Jed catches the faintest hint that Interpol knows where he is." He sighed. "Hopefully I will have good news soon."

"I hope so too."

She had a flight for him very quickly, and she messaged the flight information via SMS. A brief acknowledgement came back within moments.

It was another two days before she heard from him again. The suspense was veritably killing her, as were the constant requests for more information from her.

"Becky," he said, his voice crackly and distant. "Need a flight from Riyadh to Bangkok, as soon as possible."

"Absolutely. What happened?" she asked, beginning her search immediately.

"Jed's in custody," he explained. "He's being extradited out of Saudi Arabia, back to the UK."

"I thought he was in Dubai."

"He was," he said, a bit of triumph evident in his voice. "The government of Dubai agreed that the negative publicity wasn't worth it, so they picked him up and put him on a plane to Riyadh. He found the police and myself waiting for him on the other end."

She smiled. It seemed Bridget's ordeal was nearly over. "Oh, thank goodness."

Mark continued, "I'm heading to Bangkok now to ensure Bridget's release, and gather any information I can that will strengthen the Crown's case against him."

"Well done," she said, grinning broadly. "Ah. I have that flight information for you." She read off the flight number and the time it was departing.

"That gives me three hours to get to the airport," he said. "Thank you. I'll call soon with an update, I promise." He disconnected.

She did not hear from him again that day, nor the next, nor the one after that.

………

"Good afternoon."

Rebecca's head snapped up to see Mark striding in, looking weary but none the worse for wear, as he headed for his office. He placed a pastry on her desk as he passed by; she noticed his hand was a little red and abraded. "Just a little something in gratitude."

"_Mark!_" She jumped up from her desk, surprised at his nonchalance. "We've been dying to know what happened!"

"Bridget's free. She'll be back in the UK tomorrow. Meanwhile, I have a conference with the Peruvians to prepare for." He went into his office and closed the door.

Rebecca realised just then how utterly maddening he could be. She followed him into the office; she did not bother to knock first.

"What happened?" she asked again.

"I told you—"

"I don't mean that. I mean your hand."

"Ah." He looked to the side. "I thought she was in Thailand with her friend on holiday. It turns out that it was a work assignment and Daniel was there too. Her ex." He took in a deep breath, then released it slowly. "I knew they were back together, but it was still difficult for me to hear about Bridget visiting him at his hotel, staying with him overnight."

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing for you to be sorry about," he said. "You've been indispensible during this whole ordeal."

"The least I could do," she said. She smiled; he hadn't yet answered her question. "Your hand."

"Right. Well, when I learned of this then learned he had left her at the airport…" His expression turned sheepish. "I admit I let my anger get the better of me. So I went to find him. We had a fight. And that's when… well, it turns out they weren't back together at all. Never had been. She had not stayed overnight. Not for a lack of trying on his part, apparently."

"So that means—" Rebecca said hopefully.

"She's obviously moved on," he finished for her. "I should too."

She smiled sympathetically. "But she's not with him," reminded Rebecca, trying to raise his spirits. "Do you think you might try to talk to her again, try to win her back?"

"Nothing would make me happier," he began, then drifted off, silent for many moments before he continued. "But after the way I behaved, I would be surprised if she ever wanted to see me again for the rest of her life." He looked to Rebecca again. "When I saw her in prison, she was reaching out to me, looking for reassurance from me, telling me she thought of me every day, and I was so angry about Daniel that I—I was an arse. I deserve what I get."

She knew Mark well enough to understand what he meant to do. He had not stopped loving her, and from the sound of it, she still had feelings for him, but he was prepared to sacrifice everything because of a misapprehension.

He was being a bloody emotional martyr.

"Mark," she said. "Never say never."

A fleeting smile passed his lips. "Nice of you to say," he said. "However, I prefer to remain realistic."

……….

"The conference is due to conclude at three," said Mark the following morning. He looked better, or at least a little bit more well-rested. "Afterwards, we're coming back to my house for a debrief, the lot of we lawyers. So, if you wouldn't mind going to my house in advance to set things up, I would appreciate it."

"Of course."

"If you could be there at one, the housekeeper will still be there. I'll let her know you're coming."

"Great. Will do."

He smiled reservedly. "Hm. Well. I should get down to the meeting. Due to start at eight sharp."

"I'll see you later."

She wrapped up her work at the office, went out for a light lunch, and was at Mark's house just prior to one. She got his meeting table all set up with pads of paper, pitchers of water and glasses, and copies of the meeting agenda Mark had prepared in advance so that they could discuss the progress they'd made that day.

She was considering making coffee for them when she heard a knock at the door. She looked to the clock on the wall. It was barely two, but she supposed it was possible Giles or Jeremy left the meeting early. She went to the door, swung it open—

She couldn't believe her eyes. It was Bridget.

"Oh!" Bridget said, clearly disheartened. "I forgot about you."

Rebecca was rendered completely speechless. She didn't realise Bridget was due back so early in the day. Despite her prison stay, she looked rather healthy and as lovely as ever.

"I just wanted to, um, say something to Mark," continued Bridget.

Thinking he'd be there probably within an hour or so, she said, striving for a tone approaching normalcy, "He's at the office. Do you want to come in?"

"Oh. Oh, no," Bridget replied. "No, no, I don't think I will." She offered what was obviously a forced smile. "I really hope that you'll be happy together."

"Sorry?"

"You and Mark. I really hope that you'll be very happy together."

Oh God. Bridget still thought Rebecca and Mark were having a fling—and yet still wished them well despite her own feelings, despite her own broken heart, evidenced in that look of disappointment when that door had swung open—

Bridget had to know, despite Mark's insistence that she say nothing, that Rebecca was no impediment to happiness with Mark. She would say whatever she had to say, do whatever it took, to get it through to her.

"No, no, no, no, _no_, Bridget, listen. You've got it completely wrong. I'm not in love with him," Rebecca said. She knew this was it. Her heart was racing a million miles a minute as she continued. "How could I be, when I'm totally heartbrokenly smitten with someone else?"

"Someone else?" Bridget echoed.

After keeping it to herself for so long, it was unbelievably easy to admit:

"You, Bridget."

"_Me?_"

"Ever since I saw you here with your hair messed that night and bits of garden stuck to you," she confessed, thinking fondly back to that night of the meeting in February. "You must have noticed. I try to hide it, but every time I see you, I… I light up."

"I thought you were just, you know…" she began, her shock and disbelief evident. "…_lying_."

"Was every look I ever gave you a lie?" Rebecca asked; the last thing she wanted was for Bridget to think she was lying now to protect Mark. On impulse, she reached forward and pressed her lips against Bridget's; even as she did it, she couldn't believe she had dared.

Bridget was clearly taken aback, which was more than understandable for a straight girl; she gave Bridget no more than a lengthy peck before standing upright again, smiling at Bridget, willing her to really, truly understand that she had no romantic feelings at all for Mark.

"Thank you very much. That was lovely," said Bridget, still stunned; "Really lovely. But I'm afraid it's still men in general, and Mark Darcy in particular, that I love." She offered Rebecca a smile. "If… if I ever do decide to, um, you know, _bat for the other side_—" Her smile broadened; Rebecca did not delude herself into thinking it was for anything but realising Mark had not been unfaithful. "—well, there's no one else. Only you."

Rebecca smiled tenderly. She knew Bridget was only saying it to be kind, but she appreciated that her reaction had not been negative. "Thanks."

With another beaming smile, Bridget raced off; it was only then that she noticed Giles standing there on Mark's walk with his umbrella as the rain poured down. He looked as shocked as Bridget just had.

_Oh God_, thought Rebecca.

"Hello Giles," trilled Bridget as she ran by.

"Hell_o_ Bridget!" Giles returned, grinning madly. He continued up the path and ascended the stairs. "Well," said Giles as he followed Rebecca into the house. "I guess you _were_ really only trying to be Mark's friend, eh? Trying to get close to Mark's girlfriend?"

"No," she said, feeling her face flush hotly.

"It's all right, Rebecca," he said, winking in a very exaggerated manner. "Secret's safe with me, eh?"

It was probably the most titillating thing that had happened to Giles in his life. She decided there was nothing to be done about it than move past it and change the subject. Rebecca asked, "Why don't we go into the meeting room? The others should be here just after three, right?"

"Probably sooner. Everything was ahead of schedule. Hm. Coffee?"

Giles went in and Rebecca went to make coffee as she had originally intended, but she could not stop thinking what had occurred. She'd have to tell Mark about her crush on Bridget. She probably should have told him ages ago. Hell, she'd probably have to find another job, which was especially tragic. She loved her job.

She was just bringing the coffee, some mugs and sugar and cream when there was another knock at the door. She deposited the tray in the meeting room and opened the door. It was Jeremy. He was looking positively giddy.

"Meeting went well?"

"You will _never_ believe what happened."

Jeremy came in and headed straight for the meeting room.

"What happened?" asked Rebecca, hot on his heels.

"Giles! You will not _believe_ what happened after you left!" Jeremy said. Giles looked up at Jeremy.

"You will never believe what happened _here_!" countered Giles.

"Giles!" said Rebecca.

Jeremy raised a brow.

"Fine, fine," huffed Giles. "So what happened? Did Santiago blow his top and punch out Hernandez?"

"Hardly." Jeremy laughed. "Bridget showed up!"

Rebecca felt her mouth drop open of its own accord. "At the meeting?"

"Yes! And oh, it was absolutely priceless… Santiago bid her to speak, and she did." Jeremy looked squarely at Rebecca. "What do you know about Mark seeing a lesbian?"

She felt her face turn crimson as Giles guffawed again. "This is better than a French farce!"

"If you two are quite finished giggling like schoolboys," she said authoritatively, "tell me what she said to Mark."

"She said she loved him, if you must know," said Jeremy. "Then he pulled her by the arm out of the meeting… and never came back in."

Filled with hope for them, Rebecca felt a broad smile spread over her face. With any luck, they were talking, making up, or… well, maybe something even better. "Good," she said.

"So what happened here?" said Jeremy.

"I convinced Bridget that Mark and I were not having an affair," she said, taking the wind out of Giles' sails, since he'd seemed hell bent on telling anyone who'd listen anyway.

Jeremy quickly did the mental math and furrowed his brows. "So… it was you that—?"

"Mark and I were never seeing each other." Rebecca heard her mobile ringing. "Excuse me." She went to her purse, saw that the incoming call was Mark. Her stomach fluttered as she answered it, walking back into the entryway.

"Becky, it's Mark."

It was a good sign. He didn't call her 'Becky' when he was stressed.

"Hello, Mark," she said, calm as she could manage. "Everything all right?"

"Hmm. Yes." She heard a light laugh, a woman's laugh, in the background. Butterflies began to cyclone in her stomach. It was Bridget. "I was mainly calling for two reasons. One, tell Giles, Jeremy, and anyone else who turns up to go home. Debrief's cancelled. Er, postponed, rather. We'll reconvene another day."

"Oh… okay."

"If you don't mind staying long enough to see everyone out, I'd be grateful."

"Sure," she said, then asked, "You're not coming home?"

"Um," he said; he sounded distracted. Little wonder. "No. That's the other reason I called. I wanted to thank you for kissing Bridget."

"What?" she gasped, surprised that he had not reacted badly to the story of the kiss.

He started to laugh. "It was terribly brave of you to do that in the name of bringing the two of us back together. Bridget said it best: the kiss was what really drove home that there truly was nothing going on between you and I. She said that the 'smitten' thing was a nice added touch, too."

Her thoughts whirled. Was it possible that they believed her words and actions to only be an exaggeration?

"In any case," Mark continued, "we have more than apologised and made up. So thank you for your part in it."

She smiled, feeling a little emotional. While she suspected resolution couldn't be that simple, now was not the time for detailed discussion on the matter. "I told you…. I should have said something weeks ago."

Mark laughed. "So you should have." She heard Bridget's voice softly call his name from somewhere in the background. "I ought to go. One last thing though."

"What?" she asked, thinking he was going to ask her to phone in reservations for the two of them for dinner or similar.

"You'll be pleased to hear that the ring will finally come out of my bureau drawer."

"You—did you propose? Wait, that's silly of me, of course you did," she blurted. "Congratulations!"

Mark said in a low tone, "Thank you." She heard Bridget's voice again, louder, closer to him, light and teasing:

"Becky, Mark has to go _now_!"

Rebecca laughed. "Goodbye, Mark. Have a lovely evening."

She reasoned he hardly needed her good wishes, but she wanted to offer them all the same.

………

"Hello, Rebecca."

Rebecca looked up quickly to see Bridget standing there, wearing a mackintosh and a bright top and skirt underneath. She was smiling, and from the look of it, it was in no way forced. Rebecca could not help herself and beamed a bright smile back up to Bridget.

"Bridget," she said. "It's so nice to see you. I'm sorry, Mark's not here."

"Oh, I know," she said. "I was actually here to see you."

"Me?"

"Yes, I was just coming by to invite you to a drinks party this weekend. Saturday, seven o'clock, Mark's house. Would have called, but was down here anyway for work…"

Rebecca was surprised, and touched beyond belief. "Oh. That'd be really nice—my weekend is totally free. Thank you."

"Great!" she said. "I'm so glad. You were such a good friend to Mark during—well, two months I'd rather just forget."

Rebecca offered a small smile. "I understand congratulations are in order."

Her former cheeriness returned, but her smile was a little bashful. "Yes," she said. "Thanks."

"May I see—?" She started to ask for a look at the ring, but stopped short.

Bridget, however, anticipated the question, and thrust her left hand forward. "It's gorgeous, isn't it? He has such good taste."

"Yes he does," she said. Without thinking she took Bridget's hand to have a closer look; her hands were soft, her nails recently manicured and painted with pale pink gloss. She looked at the glittering stone and smiled again, as if their happiness washed into her. "Lovely."

"Thanks." Bridget took her hand back and stood upright again.

"I'm glad he finally found the moment to ask," Rebecca said.

She drew her brows together. "'Finally'?"

"He had the ring—" She stopped again. If Mark hadn't told her, perhaps it was not her place to do so.

"Rebecca," said Bridget in a very serious tone. "He had the ring for how long?"

Quietly she said, "Since February."

She blinked rapidly. "February?"

Rebecca nodded. "Yeah."

She watched Bridget's eyes get a little misty. "Oh. _Oh!_" She suddenly looked mortified. "Law Council Dinner?"

Recalling the box in his suit pocket, Rebecca said with a little nod, "As a matter of fact, yes."

Bridget clasped her hand over her mouth, tears glimmering in her eyes. "Oh my God. And I said I'd say 'no'!"

"Bridget?"

Bridget whipped around at the sound of Mark's voice, whom Rebecca could not see from her present position; Rebecca realised in peering around her that he had one of the Peruvian dignitaries, Mr Santiago, with him. This seemed to matter little to Bridget. She ran to Mark, her arms outstretched, and jumped up to throw them around his neck and plant a big kiss right on his lips before hugging him within an inch of his life, burrowing her face into his shoulder. His arms came up to embrace her, though a red flush could be seen creeping up from under his collar.

"Everything all right?" Mark said, turning his gaze to Rebecca.

"Everything's fine," Rebecca replied with a smile.

"You had this ring in February, Mark Darcy," Bridget said, her voice muffled though tremulous. "_February!_ I am the world's biggest idiot and I don't deserve you."

He queried Rebecca with his eyes; she only mouthed the word _Sorry._

With a smirk, he mouthed back, shaking his head slightly, _Don't be_.

Rebecca smiled, looking down briefly.

"Miss Gillies, nice to see you, and you too, young lady," said Mr Santiago, bowing to Rebecca and Bridget in turn.

Bridget stood upright, her skin pink. "Hello, sir," she said, backing away, standing rather primly with her hands together. "Please, forgive me. I'm still getting used to the idea that I… well… deserve Mr Darcy here."

Mark chuckled, along with Santiago. "It is quite all right," the Peruvian said. "It is clearly a reunion that is a long overdue. And we all need a little spark in our lives, no?" He winked at Rebecca.

She smiled. "Well said, Mr Santiago."

"I was just stopping by to get some paperwork before returning to the meeting," said Mark. He still had Bridget's hand in his. "Still on for later?"

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away," Bridget said with a grin.

To Rebecca's surprise he bent and kissed Bridget, placing his free hand on her face; the kiss lingered a little longer than she would have expected given they were in the office. Rebecca lowered her gaze until she heard him say, "Until later."

Mark headed for the door, but Rebecca cleared her throat gently.

"Was there something else?" Mark asked.

Rebecca held up the envelope containing the papers he'd come for. With a sheepish grin, he stepped forward and took it from her grasp before darting out for good.

Bridget was still smiling moonily after they left. "Still feel like I'm dreaming," she said. "Feel like at any moment I'll wake and be back in the Thai prison."

"Prison must have been awful," said Rebecca.

"Oh, you have no idea," Bridget said.

"I'm very glad Mark was able to do what he did."

"That's the odd thing," she said. "No one told me he was working so hard for me. Not even him."

Rebecca thought back to what he'd said about being an arse when he saw her in the prison. "I think he was afraid of letting on he still loved you."

"Yeah," she admitted. "That and he was angry about Daniel. My ex. Ugh. Worlds apart from Mark in every way."

"Bridget!" It was Giles, who had just come in.

Bridget turned to face him. "Hello Giles. How are you?"

"Very well," he said, then waggled his eyebrows, smiling. "Didn't interrupt anything, did I?"

Bridget slapped his upper arm playfully before noticing the clock on the wall. "Crikey. Is that the time?"

"Mm-hm," said Rebecca.

"Oh dear. Have to get back. Talk to you soon," she said. "Maybe lunch sometime?"

Rebecca smiled broadly. "I'd like that."

Bridget waved, then stepped out of the office.

"Have a date?" joked Giles.

"You are incorrigible," said Rebecca with a smirk.

………

Rebecca had never seen Mark's house all done up for a fancy party before. It was a gorgeous place regardless, but Mark—or Bridget, she suspected—had turned it into something rivalling palatial elegance. There were ivory pillar candles lit on the table in the foyer, and armfuls of fresh flowers on the occasional table as well as in the front sitting room. In the dining room, the tablecloth and the sideboard runners appeared to be sheer silver silk; the window treatments had been done over with the same fabric too. The table settings upon which the hors d'oeuvres were being presented were heirloom and quite refined, the silverware ornate and tasteful, the stemware clearly of the finest crystal.

Rebecca was among the last to arrive, despite it only being twenty minutes past seven. Present were Jeremy and Magda, Giles, and the two women she had seen in Mark's office late that night when Mark had learned of Bridget's ordeal.

"Oh, I am so glad you made it!" It was Bridget; she looked beautiful in a long dress made of blue silk, her hair pulled back into a stunning silver barrette at the base of her neck. As seemed to be the norm and as just Mark had predicted, she wore little adornment in the way of jewellery, only her silver heart necklace, and, Rebecca noticed with a small smile, her lovely diamond ring. "Let me introduce you to my friends. Shazzer! Jude!"

The women from that meeting in Mark's office turned upon hearing their names, and offered tentative, polite smiles as Bridget and Rebecca approached. "Hello," said the blonde.

"Shaz, Jude, this is Rebecca Gillies, Mark's secretary," said Bridget. Rebecca offered her hand to each of them in turn. "Rebecca, this is Shaz, or rather, Sharon. And this is Jude."

The women's brows furrowed with a sort of curiosity at the sound of her name. "Rebecca," said the brunette, Jude. "We've heard so much about you."

"Oh, I didn't realise you were _that_ Rebecca," asked Sharon, overlapping Jude a little. "You work for Mark? I thought your father owned half of Australia."

"Sharon!" said Bridget.

Even as she was surprised and even a little offended by this woman's brash directness, Rebecca blushed. "Well, not quite," she said. "He is well off, but I prefer to live a life of my own choosing." She looked to Bridget, then back to her new acquaintances. "What have you heard about me?"

The three of them started to chuckle.

"Pay no attention to Shaz, who has no concept of tact," said Bridget. "And I put very little stock in the things that Janey Osbourne has to say."

_Ah_, thought Rebecca. _The world's most obnoxious busybody._

"We've kind of been along for the ride the whole time," explained Jude. "When we thought you were trying to pinch Mark and everything. But we know the whole story now, and if Bridge thinks you're okay, then we do, too."

"Thanks," she said, touched that she'd say so, yet somehow unsurprised that Bridget's friends had that much trust in her.

"Where the hell is Tom?" asked Jude.

"Let me text him. Fucking late again," said Sharon as she reached for her mobile. As the two of them stepped away, she turned and added, "Nice to meet you, Rebecca."

"Nice to meet you too."

As the two of them wandered away, Rebecca asked, "The whole story?"

"Well," said Bridget with a smile, "the condensed version, anyway."

Rebecca smiled, then frowned a little. "Where's Mark?"

"He's around here somewhere. Very odd," said Bridget, looking around. "It's not like he's hard to miss."

Rebecca laughed. "I don't see him—oh wait, here he is."

Mark entered the room with another man, the third person unknown to Rebecca at that meeting about Bridget being in prison, and Mark's expression was somewhere between amused and horrified, at least until he saw Rebecca. "Hello," he said, managing a small smile. "Glad you could come."

"Thank you so much for inviting me. Everything looks lovely."

"Oh, Rebecca," Bridget said, "this is my friend Tom. Tom, Rebecca."

Tom shook her hand, offering an impish smile. "Legs up to here, indeed."

Bridget rolled her eyes. "Not like you're interested." She looked from Tom to Mark back to Tom again. "Tom. What have you been saying to Mark?"

Rebecca had only just truly met Tom, but it was clear that Tom was feigning innocence. "What makes you think I said anything?"

"He was giving me the talk, Bridget," said Mark.

"The talk?"

"Mm," said Mark, slipping his arm around Bridget's shoulders, pressing a kiss into her hair; this spontaneous act of affection without apparent conscious thought was adorable and so very unlike the old Mark. It made Rebecca smile. "Advising me, like an overprotective patriarch, that should I ever hurt you, they'll—what was the phrase you used, Tom?—tie my bollocks 'round my neck." Tom looked quite pleased.

At that Bridget began to laugh, and Rebecca found she could not stop herself from laughing too—both that Mark would repeat such a thing, and the very thought that Mark would ever do anything to intentionally hurt Bridget given what he'd gone through the first half of this year.

Regaining her breath, Bridget grabbed Tom's elbow. "Come on. Let's get you a drink—excuse me, will you?"

"That's fine," replied Rebecca before turning and smiling at Mark. "It was really sweet of you to invite me today, given everything that happened."

"Actually, Rebecca," said Mark, "I'd like to talk to you in private about that."

"Oh," she said. Rebecca had wondered when this might come up; Mark had been so wrapped up in his reunion that he was hardly aware of anyone or anything but Bridget. "Sure."

He smiled. "No need to look panicked."

The two of them went back into the entryway, then headed for Mark's office for a little privacy. Mark closed the door behind them.

"About what you said to convince Bridget of my fidelity. Specifically, what you did." He paused as if to consider his words. "Bridget seems to believe that your confession was a bit of an exaggeration to get her to believe you weren't interested in men. In me. That the kiss was just an over the top exclamation mark at the end of your sentence. But I think I know better."

Rebecca felt her face flush, and she glanced down. "It was only a peck."

"Oh, Becky, I'm not angry," Mark said. "In fact, I can honestly sympathise. After all, I myself was unable to resist falling for her." The glimmer of a grin touched on his lips. "I also know that if you'd planned on acting on how you feel, you would have done so while Bridget and I were apart."

"Mark—" she began, then stopped. She had no idea what to say.

"I guess what I'm saying is: as far as I am concerned, nothing has changed between you and I," he said.

Rebecca stuttered, "I—I'm glad."

"And not only do I trust Bridget implicitly, but she's as straight as an arrow."

Rebecca smiled, recalling Bridget's words on Mark's front porch the day she'd come back into his life.

"That said," continued Mark, "I know that Bridget would like to become friends with you—that won't be a problem, will it?" he asked.

"No," Rebecca replied automatically.

Mark smiled broadly. "Excellent. Glad we cleared that up. So let's go have something to drink, shall we?"

………

It didn't surprise Rebecca in the least that Bridget was late; given what she knew of her so far, this seemed to be the norm. She didn't mind in the least. It gave her time to reflect about the party last weekend, the genuinely good time she'd had in not only welcoming Bridget back to England, but celebrating her engagement to Mark. She also thought about how much she was looking forward to becoming better friends with Bridget… and how interesting it was that the more she got to know Bridget, the less like a love-struck teen she felt.

"Hey, you're early."

Bridget's voice startled her out of her thoughts, and she looked up with a smile. "No," she said with a light laugh. "You're late."

"Sorry. I meant to be early," she said, removing her overcoat to slip it on to the back of her chair before sitting down. She looked lovely in a rose-coloured sweater and a black skirt with printed flowers in that same shade of pink. "So," said Bridget brightly, still smiling.

"So," Rebecca said in return, her smile widening.

Bridget grinned, then began to laugh, and Rebecca did too, to the point that by the time the waiter came around to take their drink orders, they were giggling uncontrollably and breathless with laughter. They each managed to order a glass of wine, and at last, settled down until they were returning to something approaching a normal state.

"That was—" began Bridget.

"Not very dignified," supplied Rebecca.

"I was going to say 'silly'," she replied, then chuckled again.

"What?"

"'Not very dignified'," Bridget said. "You sound like Mark."

Rebecca felt a flush heat her skin.

As the wine arrived, Bridget pulled herself to sit upright and held her glass aloft. "So, where shall we begin?"

Rebecca lifted her glass too, then began talking.

_The end._


End file.
